


Devil's Spine

by CharlieMcarthy



Series: The (K)night Guard [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Mari is a creepy motherfucker but i love it so much, friendship conquers all i guess, give or take, ladies and gentlemen i bring you their origin story!, or the one where Mike nearly dies like five times, the prequel to London Bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMcarthy/pseuds/CharlieMcarthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to London Bridge. The first night on the job, Mike Schmidt nearly dies. The second night, he gets fed up. And on the third night, everything changes because someone is running out of time. Mike finds himself caught up in a twenty year old horror story, to which he is quite possibly the solution. "Evil is always possible. But goodness is eternally difficult."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Exactly a 9 to 5

_“They come alive when I work the nights  
I guess I should have seen the warning signs…”_

**1\. Not Exactly a 9 to 5**

Mike Schmidt was bored as hell.

He lifted his head off the back of the desk chair, eying the tablet in his lap.

Nothing out of the ordinary yet. Of course, it was only 11:50 something. Place didn’t go into its odd lock-down until midnight, so he had solid ten minutes to kill.

 _‘Maybe I oughta rephrase that last statement…’_ He mused to himself idly.

Yeah. The less he thought about being killed the better. With a snort, Mike recalled the information given to him by the manager as the portly man left. The man had booked it out of there so fast it was a wonder there weren’t skid marks by the door.

_‘Stuffed into a suit. They can afford a night guard, but not a technician to reprogram these crazy motherfuckers? Gimme a break.’_

This whole job smelled fishier than anything, and that was coming from the kid who’d worked in the local cannery until it had closed.

Mike tapped the stage camera idly, getting a solid look at the still animatronics. They didn’t seem so scary. Recalling how large they were when he’d first walked in, made Mike reconsider his first assumption though.

Didn’t really help he was scrawny and maybe one-hundred and four pounds soaking wet.

His studio apartment needed electricity, and his car couldn’t go past a gas station without needing a drink. And the straw that broke the camel’s back, besides getting laid off at the cannery, was the student loans that were starting to loom on the horizon. He had a couple months, sure, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

 _‘Least I get to play video games during the day.’_ The thought is of little comfort, mostly because a bell has just chimed somewhere, and the power flickered once before coming back on. Mike waited patiently for the generator to kick in—now the ancient laptop that is his only window to the outside to reboot. Great.

This is apparently the cue for someone else, not just the generator or— _gulp_ —animatronics.

The phone rings.

“I…what?” Mike says, caught off guard. Before he can think to actually pick up the receiver, a voice mail kicks in. Oh.

_“Uh hello? Hello hello! Uh hello and welcome to your new summer job at the new and improved Freddy Fazbear's Pizza…”_

Mike blinked, but listened curiously.

This was new.

* * *

It can feel the weight of a beating heart for the first time in years.

Which is _strange_ , it thinks to itself as it shifts around its home. Sure, there have been others here before at night. Humans. Adults. Certainly the place still had foot traffic during the day, but there were so many distracting little bright hearts from their _lovely_ , _glowing children_. Because of that, it was too hard to concentrate on finding an appropriate suit for his companion.

It had been forced to wait for the night, when the place went silent and the only living soul belonged to the night guard’s. Talking about slim pickings.

It had found fault with every single one of them. And if it hadn’t, then _he_ had.

That wasn’t their fault though. Night guards weren’t welcomed here for a reason. Not since…

Hm. Old ghosts.

Time had been ignored for so long that time itself was now becoming a problem. Locked down in the dark didn’t mean it wasn’t able to find out what was going on upstairs, and it had caught wind of the plans to close the pizzeria at the end of the year.

They were running out of time.

 _‘We can’t afford to be picky any longer.’_ It plainly tells the suit lying slumped beside its present box.

_‘I can feel this one’s heart. This one could be different. We might have a chance.’ _

There is no verbal answer, but the Marionette doesn’t expect one.

His companion had stopped speaking a long, long time ago.

* * *

Mike took one look in the illuminated doorway, saw the rabbit’s leering face, and screamed bloody murder.

The noise resonated through the old pizzeria, as did the sound of the slamming door as Mike jabbed the button so hard it was lucky he hadn’t broken his finger.

He sat there, breathing hard through his mouth as he clutched his heart.

 _‘Shit. Mom was right. I need to take my fucking medication more.’_ If Bonnie didn’t stop his heart before that time came, that is.

The cannery had never been this creepy!

He heard clanging in the kitchen and scrabbled for the tablet. Opening it dropped the power from a steady 80% to a whiny 74% in a matter of minutes. Oh—shit, he still had the door closed.

Mike was a quick study. Not seeing the outline of the rabbit’s impressive ears meant he could turn off the light and release the door mechanism.

The laptop choked in his lap, begging for the sweet release of death.

 _‘Not on your life, buddy.’_ Mike thought grimly, flicking through cameras. _‘…or mine. Definitely not on mine.’_

There was Bonnie, suddenly lurking in the Parts and Services Room. _‘Yeah you stay right there you creepy fucker. Stay with all your friends.’_

Chica was nowhere to be seen—Mike didn’t know if he was grateful or not for that. But it was safe to assume she was still in the kitchen— _what_ an animatronic chicken was going in the kitchen in the pitch black was a mystery to him—and he decided to let that question remain exactly what as it was.

He had a few of his own, after all.

 _‘I’m so fucking quitting.’_ He repeated like a soothing mantra as he noticed the purple bunny-man had found its way to the hallway.

Maybe he could reverse call that phone guy when he got a chance to breath, and see what his technique was for, you know, surviving. After a single night at Freddy’s, he was going to need to talk to someone. If nothing else, he was going to call his mom and tell her he loved her, and admit that it was him in Christmas ’74 that had eaten the pie before dinner and not their dog Sparky. (What? A little good karma never hurt anyone—or got them stuffed into a suit.)

It was only four something in the morning, and Mike was mildly hysterical.

“Of course, I can still always quit, can’t I?” He managed a weak laugh, glancing at the right doorway. Nothing. Freddy was still on the stage—awesome, great, no _really_ —and the curtain to Pirate’s Cove was just drifting there lazily.

Wait—it was _moving_?

Oh…kay.

Probably just a draft. This place wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. (Except it totally was. Logically this meant that if something on the outside wasn’t moving the curtain, then something on the inside was. Fuck _that_.) Shaking his head, Mike turned his attention back to the footsteps coming down the hall. His right? Yep.

For good measure, he slammed the door button.

The power was at 42%—nope, 40%, crap—and Mike realized that using both cameras and doors was a sure fire way to lose power faster than his nerves could handle.

Mike clung to the thought that, even if the power ran out, even _if_ one of these animatronics managed to get in the office at him, there’s always the opposite door to escape from. And he was fast, faster if his life depended on it, so there was the chance he could get to the door before anything caught up to him. Provided, you know, there wasn’t anything coming at him from both sides when he tried to escape.

_‘Great. Scare yourself, Schmidt. Like everything else wasn’t making it their job already.’_

But adrenaline accounts for the reflexes when the brain is flipping its shit, and it’s thanks to Mike’s quick thinking he fends off both the rabbit and chicken with relative ease. By five, they seem to have grown bored and don’t show up at his door as often. That was odd. They almost seemed discouraged.

 _‘Can they tell?’_ Mike wondered as he checked the door lights reflexively. Nada. He had to conserve power though. He was a boy scout; a lifetime ago it seemed.

“A-always be prepared, heh-heh.” Mike babbled nervously into the gloom of his office. Then regretted it immediately, because for all he knew they could fucking hear him. Talk about high tech.

 _‘Do they have some form of AI?’_ Mike wondered, not for the first time.

It was exactly 5:59:42 (he knows because his digital watch is now his best friend and his worst enemy) when the power hits 1%.

Then 0.

That stupid fan stops, the precious lights die, and his new best friends the doors just go on and slide up. The traitors. The tablet has gone blank. Mike finds himself sitting in the pitch black and in the dead silence.

Scratch that term, ‘dead silence.’

He can hear _a noise._

A noise—a song—a music box song of some offhandedly familiar tune is playing dimly down the left hall. Mike turns his head a fraction, he can hardly hear the sound because his heart is beating between his ears, blocking out everything but panic and cold, chilling dread.

Was it worth heading out the right doorway?

Maybe—

Years of video games were supposed to prepare him for this moment, but Mike finds his limbs uselessly heavy and chest aching nevertheless. He can’t move, can’t think, certainly can’t breathe. He turns his deer-in-the-headlights gaze up at the illuminated face of Fazbear, and chokes on his own oxygen.

He can’t see his watch now, can’t possibly know that time is ticking faithfully along and that 6am is coming, coming…going…

Gone.

 _Beep! Beep! Beep!_ Goes his watch. He thinks, distantly, he is going to marry this watch, this lifesaver.

Silence, goes the hallway.

City powers turns on, and the petrified Mike is allowed to witness the hulking form of Freddy Fazbear, ambling down the hall. Presumably back to the stage, where Mike finds them all not give minutes later when he finally dares to inch his way toward the double doors. They’re standing there, arguably innocently, and Mike can only gape at the turn of events.

He notices now, for the first time, the animatronics in all their glory. Err, or lack thereof.

The rabbit and the chicken, or duck or whatever, looks to be in the best condition, which isn’t saying much. The bear—Freddy—has a staggering amount of wear and tear, and Mike almost feels bad for it. Some of the cosmetic damage is too much, but he took enough computer classes to find his way around a processor if they gave him half a chance.

Then he wonders if that damage is caused by other night guards, just like him, fighting for their lives (Holy fuck is that a _handprint_ ) and Mike has a hard time feeling anything considerate or kind at all for the damn robots.

Tomorrow, he is going to call his boss, and try and quit. These determined thoughts push his jelly legs toward his beat up, hand-me-down car.

One look at the spindle resting wearily toward E, and Mike lets his head fall onto the wheel in defeat.

 _‘It **was** only two animatronics. They seemed to have a set pattern, too. And Freddy only appeared when I ran out of power, which I guess I used a little sloppier than I could have….’ _ Mike rubbed his closed eyes tiredly. He was infamous for this, for talking himself out of doing things. Bad habit.

 _‘If I don’t run out of power again, I bet I can make it.’_ Besides! That phone guy was going to call tomorrow, and maybe he had made some miraculous discovery on how to outwit those animatronics.

_‘Stay positive, Schmidt.’_

Alright. Wednesday for _sure_ , he was going to call.

One more day wouldn’t kill him, right?

…he _really_ had to start using different phrases.


	2. Who Ya Gonna Call?

_“Nothing's going right, this could go on all night_  
Gotta raise my game again…”  
  
**2\. Who Ya Gonna Call?**

Mike spent the better part of his day at his second job.

This was good for his bank account, but not so good for his sleeping, eating, or social habits. It was actually also good because the job started in the afternoon, and only had him coming in twice a week. Whereas the stressful pizzeria gig was every night, except for Sundays. By the time his shift ended, the day had rolled into afternoon; the chilly fall air was threatening thick rain. And in fact, that’s what greeted him at work that night. Rushing inside to avoid the thick, fat rain drops plunking merrily on his car roof and himself, Mike ducked into the pizzeria. He was early, about half an hour early on purpose.

He had expected to find someone still there to talk to but…

All that greeted him was the empty dining hall—the place cleaned half assed—and the three animatronics that had tried to kill him just standing on stage nonchalantly. It was like they hadn’t moved at all, and fuck it was creepy.

Mike flinched and hurried past them, heading for the safety of the security room. Well, what little safety it provided. He was pretty sure the robots weren’t going to become active until 12, that was what the phone guy had said anyway.

He ducked into his chair, sucking in grateful bouts of air and let his head fall back.

Nothing. No one to talk to, he should have come earlier.

Running a nervous hand through his hair, Mike spun aimlessly for a bit. Anything to keep his mind off this, this disaster of a job.

 _‘Why are they hunting me? I didn’t do shit.’_ He slowed to a stop. _‘An endoskeleton, that guy on the phone said.’_

Getting up, Mike peeked out of the room, down the left hallway. This was probably the worst idea ever, but his ever-growing curiosity was getting the better of him. Besides! It wasn’t even close to 12 am yet.

First though, Mike went back into the office and grabbed the landline. He dialed star-66. Before the robots got on the move, calling the phone guy and asking him some questions seemed to be in the best interest for his health.

The phone rang, once, twice…

_“At the tone, please leave a message after the beep.”_

Answering machine. Damn. Well, it was late at night, technically. He’d try again later.

It was until he was halfway down the hall Mike realized that, quite possibly, the reason the phone guy hadn’t picked up was because he wasn’t _alive_ to answer it.

Wishing he hadn’t thought about that, especially not so far from his safe, safe office, Mike ducked into the nearest room. His heart sank when he found himself surrounded by suits.

 _‘Parts and Services, fuck.’_ He thought in growing distress, glancing around the darkened room and fumbling for a light switch. He found it in the form a frayed string, which lead to three sad bulbs, one of which blew out the second he yanked the string.

 _‘Oh good. It got better.’_ Came the dry, almost angry at himself comment. Now there were lancing shadows to startle him, causing him to trip and jump at every little noise. His spooking rewarded him with a bolt of pain that shot up his arm. Ripping his skin out of the sharp pointy metal bits from an endoskeleton just _lying around_ , Mike cursed and moved into the light better. He inspected his arm with a small frown, eyebrows furrowing.

“Gonna need a tetanus shot.” He grunted tiredly, fiddling until he had stemmed the blood.

A loud screech of metal jerked him from his thoughts, and he stood still as a flash of red stormed down the hall.

 _‘Uhhh.’_ Was all Mike could think. _That_ was unexpected. Almost comical. (Though if the robot had thought to look inside the room he sprinted by, Mike had a feeling he wouldn’t find this red one’s antics so funny.)

But, shit then! There was _another_ animatronic!? And this one was fast, god.

…and it was moving. Which meant it was 12. Or past. Shit. _Shitshitshit._

Mike turned off the light, and shut the door before he even noticed he was in self-preservation mode.

Heart thudding like a mocking bird in his chest, the night guard scrambled backwards, frantically swinging his flashlight for some form of protection. The shaky beam bobbed over metal endoskeletons, making him jump in fright and give a small cry. He swallowed it, half thinking whatever it was that has gone charging down the hall was going to come back and har him. Or maybe that was Freddy himself, slinking round to break through the flimsy wooden door and grab Mike by his throat, and pick him up, and _push him, over and over again until he FIT into the suit—_

And then dark, garbled speech came at him fast and angrily.     

_Gvzi lu lmv zmw hxizgxs nb svzw. Dszg dzh yozxp rh mld ivw._

He reeled back, stumbling over something on the floor. The heel of his converse caught it, and he turned down to stare at the small, rusted latch.

Latch? Yes, there was a grimy metal ring, attached to the floor. Toeing it, Mike noticed the floor raised around it in a large square.

He heard movement, soft and far away yet. But there was something coming, never mind how far away it was. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Mike grabbed the latch and tugged. He felt a flood of relief when it gave with only the minor of squeaks. As he slipped down the ladder, the world around him sucked inward, and that noise came at him again. It wooshed between his ears.

_Gsv wvzw yvzi dzoprmt dzoph lmxv nliv. Dsrov kfkkvg orevh yvmvzgs **GSV UOLLI—**_

The world relaxed, but Mike did not.

With a startled cry Mike missed the next two steps and smashed into the floor, wincing as he crashed into the cold cement floor. Oh…kay. Breathing harshly, the scrawny guy sat up with a faint cry, wincing when he realized he landed on his already injured arm.

Mike scrambled out of the way, staring up at the slowly rising figure. Its painted eyes were trained on him, if they could be called eyes. Bottomless pits of oil seemed more appropriate—but the thin, stick like creature made no move to lunge. It did not attack, so Mike stayed frozen in place, swallowing a little in anxiety. The creature—it looked vaguely puppet like, and yes, Mike could see thin strands of string glinting in the yellow flashlight’s beam—tilted its head a little, but did not leave the comfort of the large present box.

Mike had the strange feeling it wasn’t in the mood to move, but he wasn’t sure why.

 _‘What the hell…?’_ This place wasn’t on the map. What the hell did that mean?

Above him, he heard the heavy footfalls of the animatronics, but he couldn’t tell which one. Well, he could make an educated guess. Bonnie had a limp, that red guy was quick, so that left either Chica or Fazbear himself.

Judging by the figure he’d seen chasing him, Mike had a feeling the Big Bad was lurking just upstairs.

He noticed the puppet thing was looking up too, and the guard’s stomach dropped like a stone. Was _it_ one of the animatronics? Would it tell, then, because it was on their side?

Mike tried to move, pressing himself up in the cramped basement until he had a crowd of boxes stacked five times high. he was wedged into the space with safety on either side of him, and he sucked in all his breath. He had tried to make as little noise as possible, but the puppet was now staring at him.

Pressed into a small space like a cornered rabbit, the night guard stared as the puppet leaned on a spindly arm on the lip of the box, leaning closer. He heard an alarmed whimper, and realized it had come from him. This thing was so creepy.

…but it wasn’t attacking.

The puppet robot gave a low chittering, a complicated series of squeaks and clicks that he thought, absurdly, might mean something.

When Mike only stared wide eyed back at it, it appeared to grow mildly frustrated, shoulders slouching. He wanted to apologize to it, hoping to sate it’s negativity in an attempt to keep himself from getting found the hell out. It hadn’t tattled on him yet, and Freddy was right up there, a grasping hand away. If Freddy could break a table then he could lift Mike’s skinny ass clear up through the basement door.

The noise came again, this time longer, but not any louder.

It dawned on him that maybe it was trying to…to _communicate_.

That was something the others had definitely never tried to do.

This time, a soft droning pulse came out, softly hitting his senses. It was a long, drown out note, with a single servo-click over laid. It sounded a little like ‘ _Shhmmm_ -iiik.’ Confused, Mike gaped at the animatronics who was, miraculously, not trying to stuff his skinny ass in a suit just yet.

He shook his head softly, trying to convince the puppet he didn’t have the foggiest idea. He wanted to say sorry but settled for his best apologetic look, hoping it would earn him some points. He wanted, almost desperately, to reach out and talk himself, but was afraid his voice would attract the more…hostile bunch of robots up above. And getting trapped in a basement with the likes of Fazbear and his gang was not something on Mike’s bucket list, not thank you. There was no guarantee this puppet-thing would offer him any help. Indifference did not equal alliance. It was hard to move in this tight space, and he wanted to breathe without feeling like his own existence would alert a killer robot to his presence. The puppet gave a frustrated click, but not at Mike, rather at the box as if it’s annoyance was aimed internally. It shook its head.

Mike stared, and mouthed the word ‘what?’ when he caught those pin-prick white eyes boring into his soul again. He shivered, and tried not to think about the time he’d stolen a pack of gum from the convenience store when he was eleven.

With an air of annoyance but comprehension, the puppet raised a spindly finger between them. It hovered there, until Mike’s eyes locked on the hand as it folded its finger and thumb together and—

_Snap!_

The noise was so soft he hardly heard it.

And then an instant later, Mike’s eyelids fell closed, and his body toppled limply to the floor in a heap. He lay on his side, quite alive and breathing evenly as if he were only asleep.

The Marionette took some time to observe the sleeping form, inspecting his injured arm. It tapped the sides of its box absently, and reached into the depths of its home. It pulled back from Mike a moment later, looking over at the now covered in gauze and tape arm. The Marionette gave a satisfied thrum.

You couldn’t wear a broken suit, after all.

Finally, it withdrew back into the present box, slipping the cover back on without so much as a sound. It had to get things ready.

And on the floor, in the pitch black basement, Mike Schmidt remained motionless as 6am came and went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s not just gibberish Mike’s hearing. Maybe that garbled junk we hear sometimes in the game is someone trying to communicate with us. Tonight’s song was ‘Something’s Going On’ by A.


	3. Pulling on Your Strings

_“Hello my friend._  
_I remember when you were,_  
_So alive with your wide eyes_  
_'Til the light that you had in your heart was stolen…”_

**3\. Pulling on Your Strings**

Mike dreamed.

It was a strange, half lucid dream. Coated with an iron-y after taste, Mike dreamed a confusing jumble of images, shapes and sounds. Golden light flittered in and out, a massive thing—a hand?—reaching and grabbing and good god, Mike did not want to be caught by whatever it was chasing him. He had the distinct feeling, without really looking behind him, that he was being chased by…well, _all_ of them. Running, he was running sososo fast. And he had to make it, there, yes, he SAW the exit! If he could just…

If he could just…

The door was shut. The door was locked.

A man in purple turned the key in the lock, smiled pleasantly with his no face and winked at Mike. He stood on the outside of the pizzeria, he stood safe in the cool deep blue night.

‘No!’ Mike wanted to scream, but his own voice was distant, faded and most of all weak. His whole _body_ was weak. He was so tired. Mike pressed against the doors uselessly, trying to pound with useless. He let out a desperate sob. A paw clapped down over his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

‘Please!’ The man shouted at the other, who was backing away without moving his legs.

Mike was about to slam his fists against the glass again, but before he could, the doors shattered. Free—he was free! Never mind the thousands of shards of glass flying everywhere!

Sharp shards neared his skin, threatening to slice him to shreds if he was careless. It would be worth it, for the freedom. But as Mike’s hope grew and he made to jump through the tangle of glass, that golden paw found him again. No—no!

Mike was spun around carelessly, and stood there in the empty blackness under what looked like a street light. (But…weren’t they inside?) the large mitts that had once had him by the shoulders were gone, and before him floated the puppet creature.

**_‘Hlnvgsrmt rh gsviv lm gsv hgzri, xlnrmt fk drgs xziv…’_ **

It stared at him, before silently lifted something up, and up.

Down came the heavy thing, right over the unprepared night guard’s head. The smell was horrible, and he told himself he was crying from the smell and not the terrifying fear of have something dropped over your head without so much as a how-do.

**_‘There. That’s better.’_ **

* * *

 

Mike woke up screaming.

And with the distinct feeling of being _watched_.

At first, he didn’t recognize where he was. then he remembered, and he became all the more panicked. Oh, fuck—had Freddy found him? What time was it anyway?! Oh, god, he was gonna—

The puppet thing stared over at him.

Mike felt like his heart stopped.

“I…y-you’re _real_.” Honestly, he had thought everything about last night (including the not dying part) had just been a dream. And in the morning, it would unravel and he would be left without a friend in the world at his job, and a shitty car that guzzled gas and a student loan that cost more than his parent’s house.

The puppet tilted its head slowly at him.

 _‘Yes. And so are you.’_ Said a soft electronic voice, in a very matter-of-fact manner.

This time, Mike was _sure_ his heart stopped.

“Gyaah!!” He jumped back, clutching his aching chest as the puppet gave a small surprised jerk. It leaned forward curiously, raising a hand in alliance.

 _‘Please, refrain from shouting.’_ Upon further consideration, the puppet gestured to Mike harmlessly. _‘And perhaps, regulate your breathing better. You have a heart condition, Night Guard.’_

“I…I don’t…what?” Mike managed weakly, his legs giving out from under him. He landed on the hard cement, but it did wonders for grounding him. This was real. This was _reality_.

He wasn’t dead, and the puppet thing talked.

Oh…kay.

The man gulped in lungfuls of air, and he tried valiantly to get the world to stop spinning. Slowly, after several minutes, he managed to get back on his feet. He swayed dangerously.

“H-how do you know about my—?” Mike ended it there, feeling his face flush for a different reason.

 _‘When you were six years old you contracted_ _rheumatic fever.’_ The puppet rattled off as if it were reading from a book. _‘You now suffer from rheumatic heart disease and thus, have a weakened heart. Your heart has difficulty functioning when you experience increased stress. You are annoyed by the condition and try to ignore it—foolish. But intriguing, I will admit.’_

 _“_ I’m crazy.” Mike mumbled in response, his eyes very wide and face white. “That’s it; I’ve gone off the reservation. Heading for the funny farm. Off my nut. That’s all. Y-yeah.”

The puppet gave him a rather cold look, and withdrew into its box in response. As if on cue, the basement began to darken, the light bulb dying.

“Ah—h-hey, wait!” Mike yelped, taking a subconscious step closer to the middle of the room where the large present box sat. Fuck, it looked so ordinary.

To his surprise, the puppet did actually pause.

“You…you talked to me before. Or, or you made sounds.” Mike shook his head in frustration, trying to collect new information. If he could fill in the blanks, this wouldn’t seem so creepy. Right?

“And I couldn’t understand you. Now I can.” Blue eyes blinked, flecks of gold vanishing into their depths as the puppet stared at him evenly. “How?”

_‘You are…you are the Night Guard.’_

“That’s…that doesn’t answer my question.”

‘ _For now, it is sufficient. I cannot do your job for you, but I can give you aid. I am putting a lot of faith in you, Night Guard.’_

“Do my job…? What the hell does that mean?! Wait, stop!”

But the lid closed tightly. There was not a sound.

Mike swallowed, staring up into the single block of light. The Parts and Services Room. He looked at his watch, hitting its little glow-in-the-dark button to illuminate the hour.

11:52pm.

It was time for the 3rd nightshift.

* * *

 It took a little creative maneuvering to get out of the basement, he would admit. But soon enough Mike found himself setting the present box triumphantly on the floor of the security room with five minutes to midnight, and not the foggiest idea of what the hell he was going to do. It had seemed instinctual, to grab the box and bring it up here with him. Mike had more questions for the mysterious character that lurked in its walls, and he didn’t want to risk hiding right under Parts and Services where anyone could come along and find him. He was a sitting duck under there; at least here he had the doors.

Still, he stood back, staring at the present box. Then, without really knowing why he felt compelled to do so, he took the box and instead put it on what little cramped space the cluttered desk afforded. Seriously, did they even need that many tvs, especially when he had the tablet? Maybe tomorrow he’d come in early and try to make some order out of this chaos. Giving a satisfied nod at the present box which now sat in plain sight, Mike went over to his rolly chair and took a seat.

He tried apologizing for being rude earlier—if only to make that Marionette guy feel better. And even gone so far as to ramble to the box, was pointedly did not try to pry off the lid. That, Mike knew instinctively, _would_ get him on the thing’s bad side. As small as it was, it seemed the exact opposite of harmless. Mike was more scared of the animatronics than of it, partly because it seemed to be on his side—who else could have fixed his arm?—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little afraid of everything here.

Even that creepy cupcake in the corner of his office…

Mike shuddered.

12am came. Right on cue, the phone rang.

Wait, _what_?

Mike nearly jumped out of his skin at the vibrating in his pocket. He dug out his little flip phone, realizing the entire time he had been in the basement he had been without cell service—strange—and that now, finally, the phone was informing he had four missed calls _and_ a voicemail. Mike winced, begging the Powers That Be that none of them were from his mom.

Or else Freddy and the gang would be the least of his worries, hooo boy.

To his increasing fortune and luck, none of the calls were from his mom. They were all from the same person, and so was the voice mail.

" _Hello, hello? Hey you're doing great! Most people—“_ Mike pulled his finger back from the mute button of the ancient red phone.

“Not tonight, man.” He muttered out loud. Besides, he had this Marionette thing on his side, and what more could the phone guy tell him? He instead answered his voice mail, hauling the tablet over and waiting for it to boot up.

 _‘Hi—Mister Schmidt? This is a call just to confirm—hopefully you get this, urhm,”_ The nervous sounding man on the other line surprised Mike. Not because he didn’t know the voice, quite the opposite in fact. But he’d only spoken to the man once, maybe twice. He wasn’t sure why the manager was calling him, but he had a feeling he’d soon find out.

_“The front door was locked this morning, you were nowhere to be found but your car was here? If the vehicle broke down and you procured a ride home, of course this is acceptable but in the future we, uh, we’d like to know. Hope you get this—‘_

“Oh my god.” Mike mumbled. “He thinks I died. Motherfucker.” This wasn’t a call to check up on him, it was a call to cover the pizzeria’s ass.

 _“—and please give me a call as soon as you get the chance. There are some, uh, things? that we, we need to discuss. Please do not be alarmed, this really just a routine check-in, okay? Well...okay, uh, bye.”_ The voice in the speaker abruptly changed to a woman’s crisp, clear tone. _‘To erase this message press 5. To save it, press 9—blip!’_

Mike took his thumb off 9, and stowed the phone away.

By leaving the message—if the phone were ever found—then they were clearing any incrimination of the pizzeria knowing what the hell was going on. It was like a set up. But more a ‘just in case set-up’ than anything else.

For some reason, this made Mike a little annoyed, but he tried to swallow it down. Whatever. He’d talk with the manger tomorrow. Come in nice and early and _surprise him_ , yeah. Then, without warning, the world sucked in around him, and a garbled, deep voice rang between his ears, angrily and fast.

**_Nrpv yv mrnyov, nrpv yv jfrxp, gsv kfikov nzm hgroo szh hlnv girxph._ **

Mike winced and clutched his forehead, blinking the stars from his vision as he sat up straight. Oh, god. Shit. Okay. These _moments_ were getting weirder and weirder. If he could understand the Marionette now, then it was safe to reason it was something _else_ trying to talk to him.

He couldn’t worry about at that now, though.

“Jesus.” Mike said, noticing everyone was off the stage, and it was maybe only 12:30.

“Think they remember last night?” Mike nervously asked the unresponsive box.

He couldn’t be quite sure, but he thought he heard the faint tinkling notes of a music box.

“..that’s what I thought.” Mike went back the tablet, but it wasn’t long before he had to jerk across the room to slam down the door before the bunny could get in.

“D-dammit! That was too close.” Mike said again, not really expecting an answer.

Of course, that meant this was the moment he was going to get one.

“ _Close_!? I’ll show you _close_ you stupid meatbag!” Came an electronic male voice from behind the door. It was muffled slightly but that took none of its character away. “Open up!”

Mike froze, jaw going slack as he turned wide eyes toward the window where the rabbit—Bonnie, right?—could be soon. Last night, the night before, he heard sounds from them.

But he had _never_ understood them.

“You’re not pl-playing by the ru-RUles!” Bonnie complained angrily, ears twitching poorly and body jerking.

“And y-you’re _not supposed to talk_!!” Mike shouted, scrambling into the right hall, he was so nervous and intent on getting away from the now talking giant purple rabbit. The bunny blinked, as if surprised by the response that correlated to his words, instead of a random plea or cry for help. Mike backpedaled quickly.

The back of his chair bumped into something and he nearly went flying back into the room. He was stopped however, by a giant yellow hand. It looked vaguely feather like, but was mostly just large. And frightening.

Mike bit down on his lower to lip to keep from screaming. It would only serve to attract more murderers into the room, really.

“Chica! Open the door on my side!” Bonnie whined until the bird did so. It took some maneuvering, leaning into the room and keeping a hold on the squirming, thrashing human. But she managed it, lifting Mike effortlessly off the floor with a single arm.

“W-wait, put me down! P-please!” Mike shouted, but they paid him no attention.

“Better, Bonnie?” The chicken rolled its glass eyes, still holding a shaking Mike by the scruff off his jacket as effortlessly as if he were a kitten.

“Much better!” The rabbit crowed, stomping into the room with his ruby eyes on Mike. He almost didn’t notice the pounding feet. But Mike did.

“Oh, good, it’s a party.” Mike moaned, covering his eyes with his fingers as the fox pirate robot—the one he had sort of seen last night—came plowing into the room victoriously. He ran in talking to Mike.

“Ye didn’t check Pirate’s Cove, landlubber—now ye walk the plank for—“ But the fox skidded to a halt upon the sight of the other two.

“Aye! Ye got him already?” The fox’s ears sagged, and he sounded disappointed. “Shame! I wanted to do the honors meself.”

“Sorry, Foxy,” Chica said, sounding proud and amused. Mike’s stomach flipflopped. “Finders stuffers!”

“It’s finders _keepers_ , Chica.” Bonnie sniggered down at the swinging human, sounding like he didn’t mind correcting the chicken robot.                                                                                      
“Oh, same thing.” The cheerful girl’s voice sounded dismissive.

“Oh, oh my god.” Mike whimpered, still hiding behind his hands (Sure, it was childish, but fuck everything in his life right now. He was about to die a horrible maiming death in a kid’s pizzeria. He had a _right_ to be childish up to his dying moment. Maybe he would blow raspberries at these robotic assholes, just for laughs.) Mike dangled helplessly by the collar of his shirt and kept his eyes closed and hidden. Therefore, he did not see Foxy’s gaze swivel to the large box on the table. The fox made a noise of astonishment, which caught the rabbit’s attention just as Chica began to drag Mike from the room.

“…aye, hold yer fire there, lass.”

“Huh? Foxy, what’s wrong?”

Mike spared a glance, feeling the bird’s grip loosen for some reason. The pirate animatronic was pointedly with its hook at the present box. Despite ten eyes on the thing, it did nothing out of the ordinary to suggest it was anything at all but a gift for someone.

Seemed like taking the box up with him was a good idea after all.

“What? Wait—he found it?” That was Chica, her voice a scratchy octave higher as she dumped Mike unceremoniously onto the grimy tile of his office. He yelped, and was completely ignored as he scrambled up into his swivel seat. He couldn’t get past the robots to get out, so here he was. Stuck in the middle with this cast of characters.

Who he could…understand. Mike’s head was spinning, but he fought to keep it together.

“Him!? Marion choose HIM? But—but _look_ at him! He’s a skinny little guy! There’s nothing to him!” Bonnie blustered, earning a soft indignant ‘hey!’ from Mike. He was ignored again, as Bonnie made a fist.

“It’s probably a mistake! Remember the _last time_ this happened, right? We’ll just get rid of him now, and save Mari the trouble of having to—“ The rabbit stretched its arm out for Mike, who flinched back into his chair and froze.

This time Mike was sure he heard a music box. Its notes plunked and twanged from the inside of the box, but not even the bow quivered. The short jumble of notes sounded notably more aggressive than Mike remembered hearing from before. Everyone fell silent, and Bonnie looked effectively chastised. The purple bunny even backed up to hide behind Foxy. Foxy pushed his jaw thoughtfully back into place, eying the now silent present box.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief—whatever had happened, it looked like the Marionette was sticking up for him. As cryptic as it was, Mike felt a rush of warmth for the mysterious puppet.

“Well…ole’ Freddy ain’t gon’o like this.” Foxy muttered.

For the first time that night, Mike agreed with the animatronics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s song was ‘The Lost Get Found’ by Britt Nicole.


	4. In Plain Fright

_“Oh you found another home_  
 _I know you're not alone_  
 _On the nightshift…”_  
**4\. In Plain Fright**  
  


They waited for Freddy.

The animatronics are eager; Mike can hear them mutter amongst themselves as they stick to the outer halls. They seemed social, _friendly_. Joking and teasing but with an undertone of familiarity Mike almost envied. It’s obvious they care for one another, but it’s more obvious still they prefer teasing as a form of affection. Mike is curious as hell, he can feel it nagging in the back of his skull that these robots, with their impressive AI’s, have a pecking order. A social hierarchy among them. He desperately wants to edge closer to the doors and try to listen, try to learn their personalities and their mannerisms if it will help him survive the night. At least, he would be if he hadn’t been so scared that all he could listen to was the heavy footfalls coming down the East wing.

And then there Freddy fucking Fazbear is in the hall way in the time it takes for Mike to blink, and the skinny man stifles a scream. His eyes lingered too long on the cruel ice blue aimed at him, and he diverted his own powder blue ones in submission, wincing back into his chair. His gaze landed on his protector, the Puppet-in-the-box, and Mike swallowed. Freddy growled from the gloom, and Mike heard him. So did the others, because they respectfully backed off, so that Fazbear himself is the only one looming over the night guard, and the others are hanging back. a silent support system.

And Mike had a three foot tall puppet that was hiding in a cadrboard box. God, he was so fucked.

Freddy stomped closer, jabbing a short paw-like finger in his direction. Mike squeaked.

He can no longer pretend he can’t understand their strange language.

“Ah been sick n’ tired of yer malarkey, _boy_. Since the second night I’ve had it. Been giving us nothing but trouble, I aint made for running—“ Freddy’s deep voice is spoken with a mildly southern accent, Mike knows because that’s where his Uncle lived and he almost sounds just like the guy. Pity, Mike enjoyed Uncle Marty tons more than this giant bear. He noticed immediately, in that desperate sort of way cornered people do, that Freddy sounds _winded_. His fake fur body heaves with every move, and he can’t seem to raise his left arm correctly. Mike’s no genius, but he’s tampered and fiddled with electronics all his life.

He can see the cosmetic damage on Freddy from here. All of them, in fact, and Freddy has it the best, which is sad. The rest of them…

_‘Does it hurt them? They’re all broken down…’_ Mike crushed the thought as quickly as possible. _‘No! I’m not gonna give them pity just because I think I’m safe! They tried to kill me!’_

“Freddy,” That was Chica, her voice a soft hush. The bear pitched a glance over his shoulder, much kinder and warmer at her than at the human. “Look…”

The bear followed her pointing wingtip and his gaze too fell on the present box. Again, nothing remarkable happened. There was no music this time. There didn’t seem to be a need for it, because Freddy’s expression swiftly changed from one of anger to… _shock_ and anger. Maybe a little bit of hurt.

Oh, wonderful.

“It choose him. Him!?” The bear sounds stunned. Then downright enraged. Then Freddy grits those acrylic teeth and Mike wants to close his eyes and make this all go away.

_‘There you go, Schmidt, being childish again.’_

“What do we do now?” Bonnie asked tentatively, peeking out from Foxy, who was watching Mike grimly. Mike blanched from the fox’s stare and turned back to Freddy. At least Freddy’s glare didn’t come with those big sharp teeth.

_‘Children’s entertainers my flying ass—‘_

“What _can_ we do?” Foxy grunted, since it seemed Freddy wasn’t about to answer. “We got no choice, we tried reasonin’ but Marion had none o’ it. Haven’t seen the black devil like this in ages, not since, you know. That _other one_.” Something in Foxy’s words made Mike…snap. He was talking before he realized, indignation lacing his tone.

“Reasoning!? You tried reasoning—no you did _not_!” Mike was well aware of all eyes on him, but he blocked it out. As his annoyance grew, it was surprisingly easy to do. “You threatened to kill me anyway a-and the puppet-thing-guy whatever! It told you to stop! That’s not reasoning you were j-just going to ignore it!”

“He even _understands_ us, now…” Bonnie bemoaned, as if this were some great tragedy and they were the victims of this whole mess. Mike felt like his entire world was turning around, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever fix itself—or he would be forced to adjust to this new way?

“Watch yer mouth, swabbie.” Foxy bared his teeth at Mike, eye plates turning down to make him glare.  

“N-no!” Oh god, where was _this_ coming from? They could still kill him—the puppet thing was maybe three feet tall compared to their hulking sizes. Mike grabbed the present box and hugged it to his chest. If this thing was going to be his only shield, he had every right to hold it against his body. The whole gang of animatronics looked downright shocked, eyes on the box as if waiting for the Marionette to rise from it and deal with Mike itself.

It did not.

Mike hugged it tighter, trying to get his breathing back under control. This was not good.

“I-I have e-every right to talk! You guys, for two nights, tried stuffing me in a suit! I’m not an endoskeleton! T-that should be obvious from the get go—I’m not even metal!” Shit, he really needed to stop breathing and shouting. In his chest he felt his traitorous, weak heart fumble in its cavity. His chest felt increasingly heavy, and tears stung the edges of the guard’s eyes.

“W-which should have been _obvious_ if you’re AI is advanced enough to track a man down! I mean w-what kind of Hell is this place!” His voice was reaching dangerous levels of intensity, soon it was almost amusingly high pitched.

“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” Bonnie cackled, seeming to outwardly enjoy whatever turmoil Mike was going through.

Thankfully, the rest were a bit more sensitive. Well, sort of.

“We don’t use that language in this establishment, Mr. Schmidt—“ Freddy thundered right back. “Next time ya speak like tha’, ya be meeting the jar.”

_‘How did he know my last name? Wait_ —‘ “The jar?” Mike parroted.

“The bad words jar!” Bonnie informed, his ears bobbing.

“You—you have a swear jar?” This was way past weird and heading swiftly toward surreal.

But it was good to know the homicidal robots were concerned about foul language running amok. You know, in a strange, Addams Family sort of way.

“Mostly for the teen employees. You know, the ones who work here over the summer? They have the worst attitudes some days.” Chica complained, folding her arms.

“O-oh…” said Mike, who looked stunned back into normal breathing levels. Good for him too, he wasn’t in the mood for passing out again with 24 hours.

“But ah don’t like anyone here using foul language. Might forgo the jar and take ya to the kitchen to wash yer mouth out with soap, boy.” Freddy warned, and Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“A mouthful of soap for some salty language? Compared to being _brutally murdered for existing_? Gee, wonder which one I’d prefer.”

“Don’t be mistakin’ our tone, lad.” That was Foxy, his voice a warning snarl. “There still be a black mark on ya, plain as day. Ye could still be strung up and fitted fer a suit _if’in ya fail the tests.”_

“Tests? I have to take a test?! What for—I already got the job!” He had a feeling the Marionette was holding out on him. Maybe he could wheedle more information out of the bots?

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Schmidt.” Fazbear informed, before turning and stomping down the hall.

Then again, maybe not.

Mike stared at his retreating back, and then realized the rest of them were staring too. It was silent for a full minute, only the soft sounds of processors whirring could be heard.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Chica admitted softly to Bonnie, sounding a little concerned. “Do you think he’ll be okay? I mean, this has happened before, but—“

“Don’t worry about him, Chica. Fred’ll come around! It’s not like we don’t know what to do when _Mikey_ here goes and flunks.” Despite his cheerful tone, the bunny’s electronic voice was clipped—he didn’t sound so positive. The two of them began to walk out, taking the same route as their leader. Mike guessed they were heading back for the stage in the main room.

“This be a lot to take in, lass. I know how the bear feels.” Foxy sounded bitter, almost…betrayed? But he too followed the others, tail swaying a bit as his metal feet clanked.

Mike’s world still hadn’t righted itself—but it was getting easier to swallow. Questions chased themselves round and round in his head, making him sit down heavily in the swivel seat. Was this because of what the Puppet was doing? Or _not_ doing, as it were?

How much trouble was it (and Mike) in, because of its inaction?

He was breathing poorly again, something he noticed when the lid of the box he was holding moved back. Out of the box the puppet rose, stopping when its painted face was level with Mike’s gaze.

“Uh…h-hey.” He breathed, feeling a little awed. This thing—this skinny, short little robot was capable of keeping the other animatronics from killing him?

_‘That went…well.’_ The Marionette’s voice said between his ears. It was an odd feeling, but Mike held back his shudder. He didn’t want it to think he was repulsed by his protector.

“I’d hate to see what ‘bad’ is then.” Mike couldn’t help the joking comment, said softly as he sank into his chair. The box was on his lap. He moved it onto the desk; the Marionette did not seem to mind.

The puppet was shaking its porcelain head. _‘Do not take their retreat so lightly. They are upset with my decision—I don’t suppose I blame them. But give it time. Things will change.’_ The Marionette was now looking around interestedly at the security office. _‘They always do, Night Guard.’_

“You keep calling me that.” Mike mumbled as he wearily flipped through the camera screens. Even if nothing was happening, it had become a nervous tick now. He was compelled to do it, and couldn’t fight the urge just to check. Just to make sure. God, he was fucked up from this job and he had only been here half a week.

No answer.

“Hey. I’m more than just a night guard, y’know?” He tried, but received a blank stare.

_‘No. This is your job.’_ The Marionette leaned eerily close. Mike noticed distantly that he could hear the other bot’s inner workings. There was nothing but silence from this one.

_‘I will call you what you are. You will remain this way until you die, or otherwise.’_

Mike swallowed, his heart thundering in his chest at the solidifying words. ‘ _Otherwise?’_

“I don’t…what?” he managed smartly.

_‘Each night guard was similarly considered. All of them were flawed. I allowed the animatronics to…dispose….of them.’_ The puppet leaned back into its box. _‘It was the humane thing for me to do. They did not suffer long.’_

Mike knew, logically, it was best to stay on the good side of the thing that seemed to repel the killer robots. But Mike was not known for logic, unless it had something to do with a schematic.

‘You put all your brain power into those projects of yours—then let your hear govern everything else. It’s one of the things I love about you, sweetie, you can be so brave.’ His mom had once said. The words came back to him fleetingly, but Mike pushed them to the way side. He didn’t feel very brave right now. He felt like he wanted to throw up.

“Wh-what do you mean—you _let_ the animatronics ‘dispose’ of the others? H-how could you—how could you just let them die?! T-they were humans!”

_‘No. They were adults.’_ The Marionette said slowly, as if speaking to a very young child. Mike bristled. Something prickled in the back of his mind—he shouldn’t be arguing with this, this thing. Whatever it was. It was powerful, it’s every action carried weight.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Uh-huh and that means they were kids once too! I mean, what the shit, man. Why the shit am I you golden boy all of a sudden? Where the hell were you on the first night?” Mike said, feeling angry for himself and all the others who came before. “Or for that phone guy? He sounds like he loves this place a lot more than I ever could!”

_‘This isn’t about love, night Guard.’_ Marionette spoke lowly, and Mike felt ice crawl up his spine. _‘This is about revenge.’_

“Revenge? Revenge on who—on _what_?!” He corrected himself, wondering if there yet another animatronic lurking around, waiting in the wings.

_‘Do not concern yourself with the details yet. Right now, it is important you work on creating and maintaining a positive working relationship with the animatronics. Their aid will prove to be invaluable…. **if** you can manage to sway them.’_

“Sway them? What, like, make nice? Uh, hell no. No thank you.” Mike flipped the tablet closed—fighting his better judgment—and shoved it onto the desk. He folded his arms.

_‘You may refuse. But understand my protection will be revoked, and I will not be able to stop the robots should they capture you.’_

“…this is blackmail.” Mike said.

_‘This is business.’_ Marionette replied.

The night guard shivered.

Well, what did he have to lose? A lot, apparently, if he choose to ignore the Marionette’s advice and instructions. For now, if he wanted to stay alive, he would have to make some undesirable choices. He supposed he could fake being friends with these killer machines if push came to shove. Which it definitely looked like it was already.

“…al…alright.” Slowly, he held his hand out. For a moment, the two stared at one another. “Uh…dude?”

The puppet blinked at the hand. _‘Yes. That is your hand.’_

“I’d figure we’d…we’d shake on it? You know? Give me your…hand…thing?”

_‘Shake?’_

“People do it when they’re making a promise to one another. Like, I promise to try and befriend the robots—and _you_ promise to keep me from being murdered or something like that.” Mike informed gently, giving the Puppet a little confused smile.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Marionette mimicked Mike, and the two shook hands slowly. The puppet seemed lost in thought, because it withdrew back into its box without so much as a good bye. Thought it did give Mike a strange, contemplative look. The lid closed softly. Mike could hear the soft, lilting notes of a music box. But the sound was too muffled to make out, and it went on for thirty seconds before fading.

Okay. That was…weird. You couldn’t be a cold calculating figure and have such a childish view on the world and how things worked. Who didn’t know how to shake someone’s hand?

That was such a little kid thing.

Mike frowned, and felt like a piece to a puzzle had just been presented to him. He had no idea what to do with the information yet, but he filed it away nonetheless.

Sighing wearily, Mike relaxed back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. He checked his watch, and the power. Already four and plenty of power to last. He wouldn’t stare with Freddy and his gang tonight. He needed some time to regroup. He needed a plan. He was going to have to be convincing with these…things. They were smart. And quick. A bad combination when it came to Mike’s mental and physical health.

Shit, he was gonna have to start taking notes. Record some stuff. Anything to keep his ass from being shoved in a damn suit.

Just around six, the sun peeked over the horizon, and decided to make a run for it. Gray clouds that were thin and pasty covered its light and gave Mike a chilly, cool morning to head home in. He had turned off the tablet, tucked the silent box under his deck, and headed for the door. He had done this all very calmly, before turning before the double wide entrance. Sticking his middle finger coldly up at Freddy and his gang on the stage, Mike turned and walked out.

“…see you guys tonight.” He grunted, despite this crude action.

He locked the door. He headed for his car. He did not look back.

It was only when he was sitting in his old car that It happened again. The world around him sucked in and squeezed his very core, that voice impossibly deep rumbling around him. It was so loud, and so close, but he knew no one was there in the car with him.

And yet…

_Mrtsg tfziw, mrtsg tfziw, ru blf pmvd. Wlm’g yrgv luu nliv gszm blf xzm xsvd… **LI UIVWWB’H TLMMZ XLNV ULI BLF.**  _

Mike swallowed, and tried not to think about how warning that jumble of words sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s song is called ‘Nightshift’ by the Commodores.


	5. Raising Spirits

_“I've been working overtime,_   
_And I can't get you off my mind._   
_I sleep in the pouring rain,_   
_When will you come home again?”_

**5\. Raising Spirits**

“ _They were humans!” His voice echoed nowhere and everywhere at once. A soft honey golden haze fought back the dark but was losing. Something…something was coming. Or maybe it already had?_

_‘No. They were adults.’ That was the Marionette._

_The words he wanted to scream in that moment, that he didn’t_

_‘So am I!’_

_But would they bring about his end?_

_‘You kept your mouth shut. Coward.’ Commented a man in smothering violet tones. The golden glow seemed to be pushed back, and Mike mourned the loss for some strange reason._

_‘Don’t—don’t go…’_

Mike woke with a gasp, bolting straight up in his bed.

Panting quietly, he looked around the room. He half expected that present box to be in his apartment with him, like Marionette was checking up on him. Nothing, though Mike couldn’t shake the feeling of _being_ _watched_. Oh…kay. He dropped back into bed, rolling to face the wall and hauling the comforter over him better. He sucked in all his breath, and closed his eyes. Flashes of the robots, their faces and mannerisms and voices came flying at him from the gloom and Mike opened his blue eyes. He wiggled further into the ancient mattress, whose box springs creaked in quiet protest. The noise sounded like Foxy’s legs when the fox moved, and Mike had to turn to make sure he could see all of his room. He was glad for once that his studio apartment was so small. It made things that much harder for things to sneak up on him.

Well, there was no getting back to sleep _now_.

The rest of the afternoon, Mike found the dream lurking on in the back of his mind. He did his best to drown it out, throwing himself into various projects around his small studio apartment. After a while, he abandoned his still broken toaster and dug out a notebook to write down what he knew about the pizzeria. Looking over his observations, he noticed how odd it was the robots acted when around him. Well, not that the ‘not killing him’ thing was weird but, it was odd. Still, they threatened him enough he knew there wasn’t a discrepancy in their AI’s. They weren’t happy, but they also weren’t allowed to physically harm him. Marionette had given their intelligence away; there was no need to hide that either. Mike jotted some more comments down—‘ _Stains on Freddy?’ ‘Tests!?’ ‘Chica=least aggressive.’_ And also _‘Avoid Freddy and Bonnie!!’_ which he circled twice to remind himself of the still possible danger.

It was nearing ten thirty by the time Mike realized he still had to check in with his manager.

At least that would be a good laugh—scare the guy who was trying to cover up his murder. False or not, it was still rude. So Mike grabbed his keys from the copper pot by his door, and headed out into the rainy fall night.

* * *

 

Mr. King looked thinner since the last time Mike had seen him. Or maybe it was the shadows under his eyes, the thinning hair and overall exhausted appearance. For a split second, Mike almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

One glance at the robot’s on stage—his would-be killers—and Mike felt any pity evaporate like water in the sun.

“Hey.” He said, keeping his tone loud and making sure he was directly behind the man who was busying over some papers. The pizzeria was closed, the clean-up crew was taking care of the dining hall—poorly, Mike thought to himself, as if they were in a hurry to leave—and Mr. King had poked his turtlehead from his office and was at one of the booths by the kitchen doors.

The man jumped—but did not cry out. Mike had to hand it to him. Then again, when you’ve worked for so long in this horror story setting, you were probably bomb-proof if you could become the manager.

“Mike! I, so you’ve come in today,” The man said. Mike frowned at the implication as he took a seat opposite the heavyset man. It was with some satisfaction that Mike observed the guy could never outrun Foxy—or even Freddy.

“I came in everyday.” Mike pointed out. “I even put in overtime yesterday, just so you know.”

Mr. King frowned. “I hope you don’t expect to be paid for that.”

“Let’s be honest, I don’t expect much from this place that’s any bit positive. Sir.” He tacked on at the end, staring evenly across the sticky table at his boss. Something felt off about this guy. He didn’t know what.

“Yes, well.” Mr. King made a show of going back over his many documents. Mike tried to see what they were, but they were upside down and suddenly being swept up by a sausage like hand. “Good to hear from you, Schmidt. You had the incentive to come in early and we appreciate that type of aptitude here at Fazbear’s establishment. Unfortunately, I am late for a, for a meeting—“

_‘Orzi.’_ The voice in Mike’s head sounded less like himself, but it wasn’t the Marionette’s.

“And I _am_ sorry we can’t chat more. But business is business.” The man paused, holding his black briefcase half open. “Unless…this was about you quitting?” Mr. King glanced quizzically at the young man, who blinked back.

“Uh, no, sir.” _‘Hard to quit when one of your animatronics is threatening you with death if you abandon the pizzeria. Or whatever the hell the Marionette thinks I’ll be doing.’_

“Ah, yes, well. That’s good. Good for you.” His manager sounded disappointed. Combined with the hopeful question about Mike quitting, and now the night guard had the suspicious feeling something _else_ was going on here—something that didn’t involve the animatronics.

Mr. King bid a farewell so quickly and booked it right from the restaurant. Leaving the night guard at the booth with only these thoughts. With nothing else to do yet, Mike watched the cleaning crew walk past the gross floors, step right over an upturned chair, and leave like ghosts in the night.

Mike gazed tiredly at the sorry state the dining hall was left in, and then tried to stare out through the double wide glass doors into the drizzling night. There was a foggy glob of yellow light from the remaining streetlamp that stood vigil by the doors. The parking lot was empty, and black.

Soon though, his eyes wandered back to the state the dining hall was left in. Mike stood up and groaned. He cracked his back, wincing as he realized he’d done something to his shoulder when he fell through into the basement. Awesome.

“I got an hour.” He spoke to himself to break up the silence, walking over to the upturned chair. “Guess I can tidy this place up before my shift.”

Mike was making it a point not to look at the stage, lest he loose his nerve and go and cower in the security room until 12. Because of this, he did not notice the blue eyes tracking his every movement, with irritation and wariness.

The nightshift had begun.

* * *

_‘What have you got there?’_ Marionette asked, tone laced with pleasant curiosity. It either didn’t know what Mike thought about it now, or it simply didn’t care. Mike was willing to bet on the latter.

It was only 1am, and the job had taken a complete turnaround. At least time picked up the pace when Mike had four robots on his tail.

“Uh…a gameboy?” Mike paused before his little Charmander could torch the wild Pikachu, and held it out to show the puppet.

Now he was just bored, as much as he hated to admit such a thing. Boredom should be a gift because it meant he could relax. So, relax he did. It wasn’t like anyone was watching him—what harm could a little game do if it took his mind off the situation? To be honest, he wasn’t ready to confront anyone yet. He voiced that he wanted to give the others their space for at least one more day, and was pleasantly surprised when Marionette agreed on the idea.

Noting the little guy’s growing interest, Mike fought a tiny grin. Okay, that was kind of cute.

“Go ahead, you wanna play? It’s Pokemon. Figured I’d need something to do if the robots aren’t out to kill me anymore. Er. At least for now.”

_‘They will not.’_ Marionette said absently, already coiling delicate fingers around the handheld device, studying it with growing reverence.

_‘This technology is amazing! The screen is so small. What is the object of the game?’_

“Uh, I just started. Let me show you.”

The Marionette’s expression went from baffled to intrigue as Mike went over the overlay of the game. He was just getting to the finer points of Pokemon, (“But trust me you do _not_ want to keep a team of the same types—you will get your ass kicked flat out—“) when he heard muffled movement under his desk. The brunette glanced down on reflex.

“Hello!” A wide-eyed boy animatronic smiled from ear to ear at him, right from the darkness.

Mike screamed and shot out of his chair.

“What the EVER LOVING FU—!!“

_“SWEAR JAR.”_ Boomed a voice from the kitchen.

Mike clapped a hand over his mouth, mostly because he didn’t carry spare change on him, and also didn’t want the alternative to be a soap wash. Besides, he’d had _enough_ of Freddy chasing him to last a life time. Heart just now coming back from dangerous levels of beating, Mike stared at the round, small animatronic as it wobbled out into the light, looking up at him brightly.

“Hi?” The tone was light, a young boy’s. This time it was said a little softer, a little confused.

“Uh-uh…h…hi…” Mike managed, turning to Marionette. _“Who the he—heck is that?”_ He hissed at the other robot.

Marionette was thoroughly engaged in the gameboy, and answered vaguely. _‘That is BB. I brought him up from the basement. I like this bird. May I catch this one?’_

Mike glanced at the screen, “A Pidgey? Uh, sure, go ahead.” He felt lightheaded again.

The Marionette made a pleased noise and was engrossed once more.

Having a feeling he wasn’t going to get anymore help from Marion, Mike studied the new animatronic for himself. Round, with tiny limbs and a goofy hat. Its colors must have once been kid-bright but those days were long gone. It looked…grimy as all Hell. Dusty, covered in cobwebs too. But it was smaller than Marionette by several inches and was very slow. It lacked any ball joints, making every movement a laborious activity. It looked like it was meant to stay in one spot for its job, whatever that was. Clearly, something involving balloons.

“You, uhm, aren’t part of the restaurant?” Mike managed faintly.

“Hi…” Came the soft, sad response, the robot looked down. Despite its mouth not moving from its painted smile, its eyes lowered dejectedly. That ‘hi’ sounded more like a sad accepting ‘no.’

The night guard felt himself relax. Whatever this little guy was, he seemed about as dangerous as Marionette. Mike glanced over, and saw that the puppet had named the new capture ‘Chica.’

He bit back a chuckle, and turned back to the new robot.

“Well, erh, BB—right? I don’t mind another body in here I guess. Just, just try _not_ to jump out on me again, okay?” He tried keeping his tone cheerful. BB seemed to appreciate it, because he pointed back under the desk and looked back at Mike in askance.

“Hello?” Still the same word, but questioning and hopeful.

“You like being under the desk?” A rickety nod. “Uh, sure? I mean, you can chill under there. Remember what I said about spooking me though. I’m too old for that stuff.”

BB made a noise, a soft boyish giggle of delight. It rocked back under the desk with some effort, and the laugh faded. If Mike didn’t know it, he wouldn’t be able to tell there was anything under there at all.

_‘BB prefers small, dark spaces.’_ Marionette informed idly as its thin fingers tapped the buttons.

“That’s convenient.” Mike shook his head, while rolling his eyes. But he let the robot stay under there.

With his gameboy thoroughly absconded—and Mike deciding he didn’t need to be an asshole and take it back—Mike found himself with nothing left to do once more, and it was hardly 2am yet. He glossed over his desk, knee bouncing idly as he remembered he wanted to clean this place up.

There were a few dumpsters out back; Mike had seen them when he came in this morning. Eh, he could pitch the junk that didn’t work and keep a pile for ‘maybes.’ He’d finally get some more space in this little room. And with BB going to stick around, more space was a better idea in general.

He left the kids drawings alone though.

It only took a few minutes to figure out half the small screens were unplugged and completely unusable. Two or three looked salvable, but not without some equipment. After all, he had the tablet didn’t he? Unfortunately for him, the models were old, and old meant insanely heavy. There were seven tvs and the giant stereo lurking under his desk, and he could barely lift the smallest monitor. He moved the fan aside, listening to the music from his Gameboy. Standing there looking around, Mike chewed on a fingernail as he tried to figure out a game plan.

Just because he lacked the muscle didn’t mean he lacked the brains.

That was how he ended up with three of the broken tvs stacked into his swivel seat, pushing them down the west hall. Marionette hadn’t even looked up when he’d left, and BB was silent. Unhindered, Mike leaned all his weight on the chair and continued his arduous, snail like trek across the pizzeria, toward the back where the dumpsters were.

He didn’t realize he was passing Pirate’s Cove until he heard grumpy muttering from behind the curtains. It _sounded_ like stifled cursing, and Mike nearly warned ‘swear jar’ into the gloom behind the purple curtains, but thought better of it.

_Krizgv ulc gszg’h uzi uiln xovzm…szev gl dlmwvi dszg sv’h hvvm…_

Mike was going to just ignore the noise and the rumbling murmur, until he heard a muffled thud and jumped a mile.

“Uh...” he started nervously. “Foxy? Everything…everything o-okay in there…?” Hopefully Foxy would ignore the break in his voice. Knuckles white from gripping the back of the chair, Mike tried not to jump again when the curtain parted with swoosh, held back neatly by the pirate’s deadly hook.

“No it ain’t be!” He snapped, jaw wagging angrily.

“Well…something I can do? That hopefully doesn’t involve bodily harm coming to me?” Mike ventured, eyeing that hook.

“Not unless ye can build me a new ship from scratch!” He growled, and vanished once more.

Mike blinked at the tone, because it sounded _hurt_ and _depressed_ more than anything else. He shouldn’t be surprised, but these AI’s were appearing more and more advanced the longer Mike interacted with him.

“Hey—don’t be like that, man. I’ll take a look at your ship—can I, can I come in?”

“Do whatever ye’ want, landlubber.” Foxy grunted, and Mike slipped inside.

“Man, it’s dark in here—can I turn on a light?”

“All the bulbs blew years ago, boy.” Came another regretful snap. Mike bit his lip.

“Okay then, well…oh! There’s some new light bulbs in the security room. I’ll go get some. Hang on…” He was out of the Cove before Foxy—or Mike—could change his mind.

Mike returned quickly, a flashlight in his hand as well. Foxy snarled at him—but Mike noticed all signs of aggression were pointed at the flashlight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Keep that blasted thing _outta me sight,_ boy. Or no amount of rules is gon’ keep the black devil from protectin’ yer sorry hide—“

“Woah, woah! Take it easy I just—Foxy I need to use the flashlight to screw in the new bulbs.” Mike pleaded his case, keeping his back to the curtains—his escape. The fox’s ears bobbed and flattened back. Foxy looked more disgruntled and edgy than outright mad. Mike held on to that that hopeful observation.

“Uhm—what about if you hold the flashlight?” He held it out, handle first with the beam nearly blinding himself. Mike squinted in the light, unable to see the fox anymore. “That way you can point it where _you_ want?”

For a split second, Mike feared Foxy was going to just snap at him and that would be the end of it. Surprisingly, the pirate fox swiped the flashlight and swung it up at an empty socket.

“Quickly, boy! I ain’t holding this thing longer than I hafta!”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.” But Mike did as ordered and had all the bulbs in and ready to go. Holding some dead ones, he hit the light switch Foxy illuminated for him. It took a moment, but the old wiring in the walls coughed up some energy, and Pirate’s Cove had light once more.

“Okay, that’s better.” Mike said, ignoring the now turned off flashlight as it was thrown between the curtain parts. It missed him by a country mile, so Foxy wasn’t aiming for him per say. Seemed he just wanted the flashlight out of his home. Weird, but okay.

Foxy grunted, it almost sounded like a ‘thank you.’ Emboldened, Mike gave a crooked grin and wandered over to a fallen piece of water. He toed it before righting it carefully.

“So what’s this about rebuilding a ship? It looks fine to me.” Indeed, the large ship in the back was a stage prop, but it was in much better condition than Foxy was.

“Sa’little dusty, but that’s fixable.” Mike commented as he walked around to the back. It was no longer a 2D ship, but a piece of machinery. Mike relaxed at the familiarity and moved in farther. It was too small a space for Foxy to fit in. Maybe that’s why the fox acted the way he did about it?

“The sounds don’t work lad—and me cannon’s are supposed to move out from the portholes! Look at the sham now, my poor beauty is a wreck from Davy Jones’ locker!”

_‘Note to self: Foxy, when not on a murderous morning jog, is a total drama fox.’_

“It’s not so bad. Well no wonder, _nothing’s_ plugged in back here. And these wires are stripped, see? Mice. I bet your electricity is shut down too. I’ll have to find the circuit box for this room.”

“My whut?”

Mike rolled his eyes as he clambered out from behind the ship. “I can replace the wires, Foxy. And I can turn your power back on if you want your ship to work—but I’ll need to turn it off when morning comes, okay? Your ship isn’t broken though.”

“It…it ain’t?” The fox looked moderately hopeful, gazing at his precious ship happily. The cheerfulness faded to a wary glare in Mike’s direction.

“Ye do this would ye? What be in it fer ya though, Foxy wonders. Well, _night guard_?” he spoke the title with mocking venom, but Mike paid no attention.

“Don’t worry about it Foxy.” Mike sighed tiredly, dropping off the raised stage and into the hall. “I need projects to keep myself busy, or I’ll go off the deep end.” He blinked when the pirate followed him out into the hall.

“Where ya takin these black boxes?” The pirate sounded interested.

“The tvs? Oh, they’re all broken. I was cleaning out the office to make a little room, you know? The space is cramped.” Between his huffs and puffs, Mike explained while trying not to get winded. Mike had a feeling Foxy understood. The fox glanced over his shoulder at the Cove, making a little noise of agreement.

Yeah, Foxy understood.

Deciding he was off the hook—as it were—Mike put all his weight on the chair and continued pushing it laboriously across the cheap linoleum. His sneakers squeaked as he pushed and pushed.

“Aye, this just be _pathetic_ , boy. Ya go not muscle; ya’d be thrown overboard if we were on the high seas.” Suddenly he was pushed gently but firmly aside. Mike stood and stared, jaw slack as Foxy took the chair in his hook and hand, and began walking the chair down the hall. He walked no slower than usual, unbothered by the weight of the electronics. Mike knew the robots were strong—stronger than the children’s entertainers had any right to be—but he didn’t know it was like _this_.

“Uh…what’re you…doing?” Mike managed numbly, following the fox on automatic.

“I be a Captain o’ honor.” Foxy stated, and Mike was impressed. For half a second. “Besides, the sooner ye get this sorted, the sooner ye can get workin’ on me ship.”

Mike paused, then smiled bitterly. “Shoulda known. Okay, well. Thanks anyway, Foxy.”

“Don’t mention it, lad.” Foxy grumbled, sounding a little embarrassed, his ears flicking nervously. It was cute.

Feeling vaguely proud of something, the night guard followed the pirate fox to the back of the pizzeria. He felt as if something had changed between them, minuscule though it was. Foxy had called him ‘lad.’

_‘One down, three to go.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite band ever takes this chapter's song. The killers--'Rising of the Tide.'


	6. Thrill Seekers and Hell-Raisers

_“Hello, how are you? I know you, I knew you,_  
_I think I can remember your name?_  
_Hello, I'm sorry, I lost myself_  
_I think I thought you were someone else…”_  
**6\. Thrill Seekers and Hell-Raisers**

“Mr. Schmidt?” said Chica.

Mike cracked open an eye, and looked up into Chica’s glowing ones. There had to be a better way to wake up. Some people managed with a clock, for Heaven’s sake.

He was lying on a very old cot that he and Foxy had dragged into the back of his newly excavated office. It was old, and smelled vaguely of pizza grease. The fold away cot had been for ill kids, Foxy had explained. (Or, ‘sick mateys.’) They had gotten a much newer one in one of the back room, so this was up for grabs. Nevertheless, they hadn’t told or asked Freddy.

It was the second night of his ‘new’ indentured job, and after having spent half the night working on the pirate fox’s ship like promised, exhaustion had coaxed Mike into just lying on the cot for a couple minutes, and resting his eyes. Resting his eyes turned into a two hour nap, according to his watch, as it was nearing 4am rapidly. Huh. Mike was distantly aware of Chica speaking, but his mind was foggy and every bit of him ached.

“—and now the power’s gone out, which wouldn’t be a problem but I had a pizza in the oven and I don’t want to leave it just…half-baked, you know?”

“The power’s...what?” said Mike sleepily, managing to sit up. The present box was closed, his game boy was sitting turned off on the desk, and Balloon Boy’s outline could be seen under the nice cobweb free space.

“The power’s out.” She repeated again, a little slower as if he were a very small child.

“Hello.” Came a soft voice from the gloom. Mike did not jump. He didn’t much have the energy in him anyway.

“Hi, buddy.” Mike said absently as he stood up and followed the large yellow bird out into the hall. “What’s this about the power—oh, it is dark, huh.” He had been asleep, he hadn’t noticed when the power had gone out. There was no ultimatum anymore, Freddy hadn’t come stomping through the night, though Mike could vaguely hear the Toreador March coming from one of the bathrooms. The others said they thought he was in their cleaning, so Mike didn’t point out the lights were often off in there.

“I think there’s some flashlights in the kitchen.” Chica said helpfully, after Mike walked into something and bruised his shin.

“Well, that would be great if I could see the way _there_ —oh!” Mike gave a surprised noise, watching BB rock itself out into the hall. After a moment, the smaller robot’s eyes began glowing too. But because of the size of the optics, they illuminated the space like to fog lights. Mike had to shield his eyes with his arm when BB looked up at him.

“Hi?” Came the confused, curious tone. Mike smiled.

“That’ll work. Wanna go to the kitchen, BB?” Mike offered hopefully.

“Hi!” Sounded like a yes to Mike. So, he scooped up the little guy—otherwise they’d be forever with the speed BB moved—and headed down the East hall. Thankfully BB was surprisingly light. Mike wondered if it had to do with the helium.

“I haven’t seen Bonnie or Freddy at all tonight.” Mike commented, then sheepishly added “Not that I’m complaining. I get the hint they don’t like me for whatever reason. It was either something I did or…or because of Marion’s choice.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame the boys.” Chica said, and Mike felt his stomach drop for a second. “But let’s be honest, this isn’t _your_ fault. You have no idea what’s going on—it’s not like you forced Mari to make such an uncharacteristic decision.” Well, now Mike felt a little better. Wow, Chica was a lot more logical than anything he’d heard her say on stage. It was kind of nice, kind of refreshing.

“Uh, no. No I didn’t.” Mike could at least say that honestly. “But what exactly did he pick me _for_? I mean, I was already hired to watch this place at night. This whole thing seems a little redundant.”

“That’s right: They _call_ you the night guard—but do you actually know what it _means_ to guard something? Especially a place like this?” The chicken’s glowing eyes met his, and there was a strange, melancholy air about her demeanor suddenly. Like she was sad _for_ Mike.

Mike opened his mouth to say ‘how hard could it be?’ but thought better of it at the look in her oddly emotional eyes.

“I’m…hoping to figure it out. Quickly.” He added, thinking of his wellbeing and the others.

They made it to the kitchen,

“You can call me Mike, you know. Mr. Schmidt sounds too…adult-y.” Mike admitted, shooting a tiny crooked smile at Chica from under his bangs, gauging her reaction. She blinked, but returned the smile by lifting her lower eye plates in an amicable manner.

“Alright, Mike.”

He gave satisfied nod and walked through the swinging doors after the animatronic.

Despite the situation—walking into a darkened kitchen with a LOT of sharp weapons with a six foot tall robot that could see in the dark—Mike felt his heart lift a little. If anything, it seemed like Chica wasn’t all too interested in holding a grudge. He wondered why, but wasn’t given the chance to ask.

“I just need you to go turn on the generators.” Chica instructed, pushing a flashlight into the guard’s palm as soon as he set Balloon Boy onto a counter. The small bot wiggled over to go inspect the sink, giving a curious “hello?” at it.

“And they would be whereeee…?” Mike dragged on, prompting her with a teeny wince.

“Oh, sorry. They’re around the building, on the south side. You can get to them by leaving the back way I think? We’re not allowed outside, and I really don’t want to upset Freddy more than he already is.”

“…so it’s okay if I leave?” Mike asked, sounding hesitant. Was this a trap?

“Of course!” Chica chirped, and then her tone dropped. “ _As long as you come back.”_

Halfway out the door, Mike paused. “What was that?” he called.

“Nothing! Be careful!” She sounded so friendly Mike decided to let whatever that mumble had been go. He wandered out into the hall, and as he neared Pirate’s Cove considered asking Foxy to come with him. Wait, no, Chica said they weren’t allowed to leave. Maybe the layout wasn’t even in their schematics, like a cleaning bot who only knew the layout of its house and nothing else.

Deciding not to push his luck, Mike scooted out of the back door and hopped down the wide cement steps with the flashlight as his bobbing guide. He hummed a mindless tune he couldn’t remember the name to. Walking around the building, Mike kept the light trained on the side of the building. Nothing but red bricks and mortar, so far. He could just make out the yellow glow of the lamp in front of the entrance, so there must be another circuit-box for outside lighting. If that was the case, then why couldn’t the little parking lot at his back be illuminated? It would make his search and turn on mission that much easier. And less spooky.

Something clicked against tarmac behind him.

Mike halted. He twisted at the waist, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A cold wind blew; the fall night above him was no help at all. A sliver of a moon gazed innocently down at him, and his efforts yielded nothing but chilly air and a soft, dying noise of a cricket in the distance. The flashlight beam, while impressive, only gave him shadows and shapes of the thin forest sitting on the edge of the back parking lot. Nothing but underbrush and trees losing their leaves.

There was yet another sound, this one unidentifiable, mostly because the rushing in Mike’s ears was masking out proper, cognitive thought. The noise came from outside the beam of his light. He gulped and trotted for the large enclosed area he found. Sure enough, it was at the end of the south section of the building, hidden away behind a raised railing fence. It was unlocked, and Mike soon discovered why he lost power so fast and often.

There was a gauge set on the damn thing.

“Of all the…” Now he was just annoyed. There was no reason to set the damn generator on a timer like this. All that did was siphon the inside of the pizzeria’s ability to suck in electricity. Maybe a few pennies were saved, but it wasn’t enough to justify the timer. Use enough voltage and the little device would cut off the supply—and send the pizzeria into the darkness it was experiencing right now.

With a heavy sigh, and a brief wondering thought of ‘why _him_?’, Mike balanced the flashlight between his cheek and shoulder and began fiddling about. He ended up crouched and half under the closed off generator, but in ten minutes he flicked a switch. He was rewarded with a heavy grind of machinery, and a slow chugging as the generator rumbled to life.

The now unlatched timer device fell onto the blacktop. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up and stuffed it onto his jacket pocket with a little shrug. It didn’t look like something from Home Depot, he wanted to know if it was homemade or what. Besides, Mike had a bit of raccoon-attraction when it came to gadgets. He really wanted to know how the damn thing worked, especially if it was one-of-a-kind.

“Thereee we go.” Mike said, standing up and brushing his hands clean. Feeling satisfied, he turned and headed the way he had come.

Maybe, were he less set on his accomplishment, he might have just entered from the front. He had the keys, after all. But he didn’t. And he regretted it the instant he heard a noise again, soft and somewhere far off to his right, this time.

“Hel~lo? Anyone there!?” Mike paused. He hurried toward the open back door and berated himself with sharp hisses under his breath. “Great, Schmidt. Next time just set off a damn flare and say ‘Hi! If you’re a creepy mask wearing murder with a chainsaw, please feel free to go ahead and carve me up like a Christmas ham!’”

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, you know.”

Mike yelped at the sudden voice, leaping back and nearly falling backwards down the four cement steps that led to the blacktop. A purple paw roughly grabbed his collar front and heaved him into the restaurant in a smooth motion.

“B-Bonnie! D-don’t _do_ that!” Mike managed once he’d been released and was inside the safety of the pizzeria. (Boy, it was pretty bad when he thought of _this_ place as a sanctuary compared to the world outside.)

“Do what?” The rabbit leered, positively sneering down at him. Feeling a little emboldened, Mike straightened his back and frowned up at the bunny bot.

“S-sneak up on me! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh, don’t over exaggerate.” Bonnie tsked, brushing him off with a wave of his paw.

“Wish I _wasn’t_.” Mike mumbled, rubbing his chest as he glanced over his shoulder. Then he looked back at Bonnie, glancing at those huge ears. “Hey—hey you didn’t hear or, or see anything out there, did you?”

“Eh? You mean outside?” Bonnie’s ears bobbed. “Nah, just you bein’ a creeper out there.”

“A cree—hey!” Mike made an offended noise. “I was not creeping! I was turning the power back on. You’re welcome.”

“Tch. _I_ didn’t ask you to turn on the power, pal.” The purple rabbit reminded, and Mike just glared. But it was halfhearted, and Bonnie noticed he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, like he half expected something to come at him from outside.

Realizing the thing in the bushes had startled him more than he’d like to admit; Mike quickly turned and stared into the gloom of the night. Nothing. He shut the door and hastily locked it, rubbing his temples. He felt a headache coming on.

“…getting kinda jumpy, Mikey.” Bonnie commented as he wandered after the night guard.

“I’m fine.” It was said a little testy, with an undertone of ‘Leave me alone.’ He stopped then, thinking about the crafty bunny.

“Hey…one more question.” Mike said, digging into his pocket. Bonnie folded his arms and rolled his eyes theatrically, but stood there.

“This look familiar?” Mike held up the power gauge, thinking maybe Bonnie had made it, or new if one of the others did.

The rabbit’s ears twitched. “…no?” He sounded confused, earnest about that at least. “What is it? some type of battery?” He guessed incorrectly, giving Mike his answer.

“Ah, no. It’s like a, what it does is it cuts off power to whatever it’s hooked up to. in this case, the generator. There was a timer hooked up to it too, set from 12 to 6, so it only was on for that time.”

The rabbit glanced at him narrowed eyes. “That’s why this place runs out of power at night? Freddy said it was because the pizzeria needed to save money.”

“Well,” Mike snorted, giving the little device a toss, “They sure weren’t saving anything with this. All it’s good for is making us miserable.”

“Chica’s gonna flip when she finds out. She’s hated not being able to bake at night, and only do prep. You better tell Freddy this.”

“Uh—what?” Mike halted so fast he nearly tripped over his own legs. Mike blinked like a deer in the headlights.

“Go tell Freddy. He’s the boss here, he oughta know about this.” Bonnie pointed to the pocket with the gadget.

“…I’m not convinced Freddy didn’t _do_ this.”

“Get over yourself, bud. We can’t make something that small,” He held up his purple paw, “See?”

“I guess…” Mike fidgeted. “Look, I’ll tell him tomorrow, okay? I want to see if I can find out more about this thing before I take it to him!” He explained quickly, seeing the rabbit’s appearing frown. “I’m not trying to keep him in the dark—uh, pun not intended.”

“What makes you think I won’t tell him?” Bonnie’s acrylic teeth flashed into that sneer. “in fact, I bet he’ll be even more annoyed that I had to do it because little Mikey was too scared to.”

“I-I am not!” he so was. “Bonnie, please…” Well, that was getting him nowhere. Thinking quickly, Mike dropped his shoulders.

“Alright…what do you want.” Jeez, this guy.

“Smart thinking, pal. Follow me.” Immediately, Bonnie perked up and walked off. Mike paused at the little limp on his right side, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to offer to fix the same guy who was giving him a shake down.

Mike blanched when he realized they were being taken to the dining hall, but didn’t see anyone in it. He followed the rabbit in, noticing the bunny making a beeline for the cherry red guitar sitting on the stage.

“You sound pretty competent with electronic stuff, right? at least, you didn’t screw up the generator none. I guess you can’t be too useless.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Mike deadpanned, but glanced at the clearly broken guitar. “Jeez, what did you do, smash it against a wall?”

“Some kids—nevermind.” Bonnie growled and held it out. “Ya fix it, and I won’t tell Freddy nothing.”

“Why not let tech take care of it?” Mike asked slowly, taking the guitar by its body and neck. He turned it this way and that. Both age and some incident had caused some inner damage to the electric guitar.

“I need it by tomorrow. Besides, those guys never work on us. Just the stuff under the stage.”

“What—really?” Mike frowned, remembering what the phone guy had said. Twenty years and no bath? Maybe he should bring some stuff in and see what he could do. ..He wouldn’t start with Bonnie though. Or Freddy.

“…alright. Deal, Bonnie.”

“Good boy.”

Mike rolled his eyes but headed back to the security room. He paused at the stomping feet behind him.

“…yes?”

“…I wanna watch.” He sounded rather like a petulant child, and Mike rolled his eyes fondly.

“Alright. C’mon.” A thought struck him “If I teach you some of these basic repairs, will you avoid blackmailing me again?”

“Probably not. But I still want to learn. I’m sick of relying on others taking care of my baby.”

“At least you’re honest.” The night guard muttered.

“I will ease up on the teasing though. Maybe. Definitely won’t stop the pranks.”

“Silly rabbit.” Mike snorted, setting the guitar face down on his desk. “Tricks are for kids.”

Mike only had whatever tools he could scrounge up. Bonnie was surprisingly helpful, he even went to the back room and fetched any tools Mike requested. Bonnie’s guitar was oversized for his hands, meaning Mike didn’t need any finer, small tools that he kept at home. He felt BB under the desk, doing whatever it was the little guy did down in the dark. Marionette was in its box on the cot behind him, playing pokemon again. Bonnie’s comments weren’t exactly nice, but easy to ignore as the guard fell into his working grove. His knee bobbed absently as he tossed out a stripped screw that kept the guitar’s face plate from closing all the way.

Half the issue was some pressure points, like the guitar had gotten smashed, at least up to its neck. He would need to find a new casing for it, but right now if Bonnie didn’t put too much pressure on parts, it would hold up just fine. Mike told the rabbit as much, impressed that the bunny listened so closely. He really liked this guitar, and that was kind of cute.

“You need to clean this thing more.” Mike said, giving the inside a critical wipe. He pulled a face at the dust he pulled from the instrument.

“I _do_!” The rabbit huffed, looking reproachful.

“The _inside_.” Mike drawled, giving the rabbit a stare.

The bunny’s ears bobbed. “Oh, well. That.”

Mike frowned, “Though I guess, if no one’s giving _you_ guys any proper up-keep, how would you know to work on your stuff? I’ll leave you with some cleaning supplies. Keep the dust out of here, and it will last a lot longer.”

Bonnie didn’t answer

6 o’clock came and went. But it was nearly 7am by the time Mike realized he’d overstayed.

“Hey…hey Bonnie,” He croaked wearily, “Finished. Try it now.”

The guitar was swiped, albeit lovingly, and two seconds later a riff of notes was played.

Mike sighed in relief at the noise—it meant he could go home and collapse in his bed and not a pizza-smelling one. Mike was just starting to make some semblance of organization on his desk when the back of his head itched and that voice rumbled again.

**_Kozb zoo wzb, zmw dlip zoo mrtsg. Gsv yrgv hfiv xzfhvw zm zdufo hrtsg._ **

He was starting to get used to it, so he only scratched the back of his skull and shoved a wrench into the bottom of his desk. Mike didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad thing, but what he did know was he could hear a certain tune coming from down the hall. Mike paused, noticing Bonnie had stopped and holding his guitar, the rabbit’s gaze and ears fixed on the west hall door.

“…Bon? What is—“ Mike paused as the theme got louder. It was Toreador March.

_‘Haha, nope.’_

“What’cha all still doin’ here still?” The bear growled, and Mike took a step back in sheer confusion.

“I don’t, it’s only—wait, what!?” Mike stumbled over his own tongue tiredly, and then finally had the common sense to check his watch. “I-it’s seven!?” He squeaked in alarm, eye wide as saucers.

“Go on and get!” The bear roared, causing Mike to flinch as if Freddy had reached out to strike him. For a split second, the bear drew back as if burned, but recovered quickly and put his glare back in place.

“He was fixing my guitar, Freddy. Don’t get your servos locked up, you _know_ you hate when that happens.” The bunny said lazily, fiddling with the strings as he made adjustments here and there. It wasn’t exactly a rescue speech like Mike had hoped, but it at least took the heat off of him for a moment.

Freddy shot a look at Bonnie, but his eyes strayed too long on the recently repaired instrument. It _did_ look better than it had in ages. The bears ears leaned back, eyes narrowing a little as he turned to give Mike a much more critical look. Mike, who now was trying to inch his way past Freddy slowly and nervously into the hall and toward freedom.

“Ah…s-see you tonight?” Mike managed with a weak wave, before turning and sprinting for the exit. The door slammed and like that, the night guard was gone.

Fazbear snorted in Mike’s retreating direction, as if to say ‘good riddance.’

“He’s not so bad, you know. Kinda mousy, but whatever.” Bonnie drawled. “You know, he kinda reminds me of—“

“Don’t. Say it.” Freddy snarled, and Bonnie wisely shut his mouth. “Get back to the stage, Bon.”

The rabbit left the room with a shrug. Freddy turned to leave.

 _‘Blaming yourself for what happened to Scott won’t change anything.’_ Came a soft comment from the back of the office. The bear missed a step.

Freddy’s optics swiveled to meet the white dots that belonged to the Marionette. The bear’s teeth were set, his posture tense and expression raw as he stared down the much smaller bot.

 _‘The sooner you accept the new night guard, the sooner we can start.’_ Marionette reminded gently, not looking down at the gameboy.

“Ah’know that.” Freddy snapped, adjusting his hat. “I ain’t too fond of being lied to, tha’s all.”

_‘I never lied. I said I choose a new human, and I did. Even your twin is starting to warm up to him. Yet you remain, stubborn as ever. Not a wise trait for the grand scheme of things, my friend.’_

“Ya choose another guard.” Freddy snapped bitterly. “Woulda preferred someone— _anyone_ —else.”

_‘You say that now.’_

“All I’m saying is…you better be right this time, Marion. I won’t let this go on for much longer—we’re too old for this.” The bear’s tone had dropped from venomous to worried and warningly. Marion didn’t see the need, and his relaxed posture told the bear as much.

 _‘He fixed Bonnie’s guitar.’_ Marionette pointed out, looking down at the screen now.

Freddy Fazbear turned and left, no doubt to head to the stage to get ready for the opening. Marionette sighed, and unpaused his game. Selecting his growing team of pokemon, he hovered over a few choices for a moment.

“Hello?” Came the musing, ponderous voice from under Mike’s desk. Marion nodded absently.

_‘You’re absolutely correct, Balloon Boy. Things ARE going to get interesting in the next few days.’_

Finally Marionette choose, and sent Freddy the Ursaring into battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s song was Pop Song 89 by REM.


	7. Some Doors

_“I conduct fear like electricity_  
A man made monstrosity…”  
**7\. Some Doors**

Mike sat in his apartment, trying very hard to focus.

Easier said than done, since he had a headache forming in his left temple and it was starting to make his eye twitch. Gross. He was lounging on the couch, only a few hours before his next shift. Night…what was it? Four, five? He’d lost count. The days he spent asleep and the nights were simply blending together. He looked back down at the little device in his hands. He’d taken it apart, put it together and repeated the same thing almost four more times. He’d lost count of that too. The point was, nothing had come up in his little search through of it. No name, no serial number. Unless it was smaller than he could see, which _did_ happen but seemed unlikely. He felt more than a little disappointed he hadn’t been able to decipher this little gadget. Sure, he knew what it did.

But _why_? And who had made it?

_‘I should see Mr. King about this.’_ Mike let his head flop back against the headrest. _‘At the very least, he’s gonna wanna know someone’s rigging their equipment.’_

Had this been what the Marionette meant? About guarding the pizzeria?

Somehow, Mike had the nagging suspicion in the back of his head that, no. It was not.

_What_ , then?

Well great. All he had were more questions and less answers. This was getting annoying, the threat of the robots waning and the sheer mystery hanging around the old joint was only serving to frustrate him more. How did a place like Freddy’s even stay open? Letting out a frustrated groan, Mike scrubbed his fingernails into his scalp of his messy hair. He moved his hands furiously, as if he could shake out the answers to his questions, buried deep in his subconscious.

All he did was mess up his fly-away hair even more.

* * *

“Uh, Mr. King?” No response. Mike cleared his throat. “….sir?” He finally added, raising his voice a little. His manager was sitting with his back to him, in the same booth right by the kitchens. It was after closing time, but clean up was still for an hour or so more. There had been several parties today, and the whole dining hall showed the strains and stains.

At least they were normal ones.

The man jerked around as if stung, causing Mike to recoil a bit in response. The night guard was a jumpy man by nature—and this job only exacerbated the problem, to be honest.

“Yes…yes? What is it—erh, Schmidt.” The man nodded to himself; as if proud he’d remembered an employee’s name. “What can I do you for?” He tried to sound merry.

Mike made a small frown, but held out the device anyway. Now it was King’s turn to frown, his own politely confused. He took the device, and Mike instantly wished he hadn’t held it out.

Would Freddy believe him if he had no physical proof?

“I found this, sir. On the generator hooked into the pizzeria last night. Uhm, it didn’t look like it belonged there, so.” Mike fiddled with his hands, suddenly feeling nervous. Would he get in trouble for this, somehow? “I hope you don’t mind I uninstalled it—the freezers were starting to defrost.” Oh god, he could lie too easily. It was talking to his old man all over again.

“So, you know. I figured you wouldn’t want to lose all that money in the frozen foods, right?”

“…No, no.” King said after a pause. “That’s very good of you, Schmidt. There’s that incentive of yours again, eh?” He grinned at the young man, slightly yellow teeth from what Mike could only assume as smoking.

Drinking, smoking, drugs…what stress relievers had all been caused by employment here? Mike forced the thought back and tuned to what Mr. King was saying.

“—will certainly look into this, Schmidt. Proably just some trick by a worker, you know. You did a good job last night…still ain’t quitting though, hm?”

“I—“ Blue eyes flicked to the office, where Marionette’s box was. “No, sir. I’m in this for the long haul.” Though he knew the puppet (probably) couldn’t hear him, he tried to sound as sincere as possible.

Mr. King studied him; in what he must have thought was an appraising way. Briefly, Mike felt his skin crawl. But it was less than what he felt when Freddy stared at him. Mike met his stare, trying to muster up courage that was currently reserved for the night shift.

He was being paranoid, again.

_‘Then again, paranoia and gut-instinct has kept me alive so far. Why does he keep asking if I want to quit if he thinks I have…incentive? Or is he just concerned for my well-being?’_

It was then Mike finally noticed the papers on the table. They were spread and moderately organized. He was standing next to the man in the booth, and while Mr. King was stowing the device away, Mike took a moment and looked at the header of one particularly thick stack.

“Krolmeister…?” Mike mumbled the words before he could stop himself.

King shot him a look over his shoulder, a meaty hand covering the papers. He made a show of straightening them, tapping their bottoms and sides before they returned to the speckled table top.

“Our security firm.” His manager informed breezily. “I’ve been looking into getting new cameras and a new monitoring system for you—ought to do you some good, eh Schmidt? Would you like that?”

Mike couldn’t help but feel he was being talked down to. Trying not to take offense—and ultimately failing—the night guard shrugged and held his hands out, fingers spread.

“Erh, to be honest sir…I’m fine with what I have. But obviously, do what’s best for the company. Uhm, I’m just the night guard, you know?”

“Yes…” King muttered, turning back to his work once more. Mike had the distinct feeling of a ‘this-conversation-was-over’ type of vibe. “Well. I don’t know about _just_ the night guard. It’s the small jobs in the cottage that make the palace proud.” He sounded like he had read that out of a Head Manager pamphlet.

“Yes, sir.” Mike said, unable to find words to combat such a campy statement.

Mike turned to leave, heading for the exit to grab a bite to eat before returning for the night shift.

“Oh, and Mr. Schmidt…one more thing?”

The young man turned, eyebrows bunched over blue eyes as he shot his manager a questioning look.

“This is the fifth night of your shift. I’m sure I don’t need to warn you…things can get messy. Please, take utmost caution.” The manager sounded so grave, so stern voiced all of a sudden. His eyes had hardened into something Mike vaguely remembers seeing once. Maybe. Mike had to blink at the sudden change. He paused, his hand on the wide door.

_‘He doesn’t know.’_ Mike thought so quickly he felt dazed. _‘He doesn’t know about the Marionette. Or how I’m working to befriend the robots.’_

_‘How much does he not know?”_

“Uh…yes, sir. Of course. T-thank you.” _‘Keep it cool, keep it cool,_ ’ “I w-will keep that in mind sir. Erh—Bye.”

_‘Nailed it.’_

As he left the pizzeria, Mike heard that strange deep voice for the first time in almost a day.

**Ru blf xzm ozhg fmgro gsv ulooldrmt mrtsg, gsvm vevibgsrmt nrtsg yv zoirtsg.**

* * *

“I dunno.”

“…”

“Maybe I’m being unreasonable, though.”

“…”

“Something isn’t right. I just feel like something about what Mr. King said was…off. Sorta. It’s hard to explain.” Mike waited. When he got no answer, he tore his gaze from the black ceiling and looked over at Marion, who was playing a GBA copy of _Asteroids_ now. A break from Pokemon, it had said. So Mike had brought in more games. The puppet’s black thumbs were poised over A as the track pad was moved. When it became clear Mari wasn’t even giving him the time of day, Mike immediately began testing the waters.

“Maybe I should tie the tablecloths to my arms and jump off the roof. To see if I can fly.” Mike spoke seriously, his voice a deadpan. He had been fiddling with a pen—having something in his hands helped him think.

Again, nothing. Mike groaned and pushed his chair closer to the desk.

“Marion!” He snapped. “Are you even listening to me?”

_‘Hmm? Of course. Don’t be overdramatic.’_ The comment was faint and distracted. Oh yeah. Real reassuring there.

Mike rolled his eyes, and considering chucking the pen at the little shit. Or, better yet…

Closing one eye and poking his tongue out, Mike took off the cap, held it out and aimed. On the second arc of his hand he released it, and it soared beautifully through the air.

_Plink_!

It vanished into the present box Marion was leaning out of.

“Hah!” Mike sat up in the rolly chair, arching his back proudly. “Ten points.”

_‘You missed.’_ Came a dry remark, a single white eye sliding up to stare at him.

“Huh? I did not!” Mike pouted, getting up to see for himself. Impossible! He had SEEN it fall into the

…it wasn’t there.

“Woah—wait? Where did it—“

Marion wordlessly opened the top drawer of the desk. Mike had emptied it out two nights ago during his cleaning spree. However, when the puppet pulled open the drawer, something rolled around inside of it.

Mike leaned over and peered in. It was the pen cap. His eyes widened in astonishment and, to be honest, a little delight. He couldn’t keep the amazement from his voice.

“Whoa! That’s _so_ cool…How did you do that Mari? Trick slot?” Mike tried to guess, retrieving the poor cap and putting it back on his pen.

_‘I do not do tricks.’_ Marion sniffed, sounding like a haughty cat. Mike laughed a little, flopping back into his seat. He held his hands up in surrender at the critical glance from his protector.

“Sorry, sorry! Okay, not a trick. Got it.” Mike spun in the chair once, slow and lazy. He waited until he heard _Asteroid’s_ music before opening his mouth, just to get back at Marion for ignoring him.

“ _How_ then? Is it like a magician’s box? Can you do it with only small things? Is it rigged to have a—“

_‘ Some things, my dear Night Guard, are not to be explained._’ Marion pronounced quietly but firmly. Mike had never quite heard that tone before, and he looked over at the puppet. When Mike only stared at him blankly—it was clear he saw no reason _why_ he shouldn’t question everything—the puppet gave a faint annoyed sigh and tried to clarify.

_‘Some doors should never be opened.’_ He put as much warning into the tone as possible.

“…doors?” Mikes’ eyes widened his gaze on something that had nothing to do with Mari’s present box. “Doors! Mari _that’s it_!” The puppet startled as the night guard sprung up, sending the chair rolling.

“You’re a genius!”                                                                  

_‘…I am?’_ Marionette sounded moderately surprised at the sudden change in topic. _‘This game would say otherwise. How do I keep the aliens from shooting my—‘_

“I’ll explain later Mari, I gotta go check on something. Be right back buddy!” Mike crowed cheerfully as he trotted out of the left hall door.

The puppet leaned out of its box until he could no longer hear Mike’s footsteps, then leaned back and made itself comfortable. It shook its head, but unpaused the little GameBoy.

_‘He really is very strange, even for a Night Guard. Entertaining, but strange.’_ It tsked exasperatedly.

From under Mike’s desk, Balloon Boy giggled.

* * *

Foxy poked his muzzle from between his curtains when he heard footsteps. It was obvious who it was, seeing as the animatronics all walked much heavier than their night guard did, and the lad’s sneakers made a much gentler sound. Ah—but what was he thinking, calling the lad theirs?

_‘Getting in too deep, Foxy.’_ Came a grim thought, but he brushed it deep into his processor. Not now.

Still, his ears leaned toward the night guard as he walked closer.

“Evenin’ lad.” Foxy greeted, putting as much cheer in his voice as he could. The lad had, after all, fixed up his ship nicely. Had even helped him sweep the dust from the closed area, and he hadn’t been asked. It was something Foxy could be proud of again, even if none of his little mateys would get to enjoy it with him. Things might change; what with the guard’s penchant for bringing things back around. Who knew?

Mike smiled and stopped.

“Evening to you too, Captain.” Mike had noticed quickly the old fox’s chest would puff out at being called Captain. Mike was fast to pick up on using it. Besides himself, he also refereed to Freddy as a Captain, no doubt from the fact the pizzeria was named after the bear.

“Hey, do you know where the Mr. King’s office is? I know it’s not on the map. There isn’t a security camera in it, so…”

“Aye, ye be lookin fer the manager’s office?” The pirate put his hook to his jaw and pushed it in thought. “Far as I know, it be around the storage room—where the rabbit likes to skulk around.”

“Oh…great.” Mike looked briefly troubled, and the Captain felt his ears twitch at the tone.

“Something troublin’ yah?” He asked, just to see what Mike would say.

“Erh, it’s nothing. Thanks, Fox—Captain.” The scrawny man smiled and turned to go.

But Foxy had a good idea what was wrong. Even if Mike and Bonnie had formed an uneasy alliance, the night guard got on leagues better with himself or Chica. Blast, even the black devil was a greater source of comfort than the purple rabbit. (Wasn’t that a surprise to them all? Marionette never got along with anyone, let alone an Adult.) And Freddy, well. They all knew what Freddy thought of the lad. Mike avoided Bonnie and Freddy like the plague, and Foxy couldn’t quite bring himself to blame the guy.

Still, he appreciated a man who didn’t bog down others with their problems, who kept a stiff upper lip and tried _before_ calling for help. He admired that a lot, liked that stubborn fire in a person. Mike had been showing his true colors as of late, and it kept the fox interested.

Perhaps that’s why Mike reminded him so much of his matey Scotty. May he rest in Davy’s locker. Shame what happened to him.

Either way, Foxy found himself parting his curtain and leaping from his little stage, keeping pace to walk on the human’s heels. Mike heard him of course—metal was loud on any surface—and he turned, looking startled. But not scared—that was a bit of a change.

It was nice.

“…where are you—?” Mike tried, but Foxy cut him off with a shake of his head. His jaw banged lightly.

“I be needin to get me hooked cleaned. Figure I might trail ye over to the storage, lad.” Foxy said, making a show of nonchalance. Mike was sharp as a tack; Foxy had found that one out the night he rebuilt his ship. Just because he didn’t call Foxy’s bluff didn’t mean he didn’t recognize it.

“Ye don’t mind the company?” The fox asked slyly.

Like he suspected, Mike broke into a rather grateful smile and shook his head. He slowed his pace so they could walk side by side, something the old animatronic found rather intriguing.

“Nah. I fact, maybe you can help me.” He suggested, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Oh?” The fox asked, curiosity piqued. It had been a while since he was considered helpful to someone, quite the opposite from a ‘danger,’ ‘threat’ or ‘hazard.’ All words he despised.

“Uh-huh. Mr. King—the manager—told me he was looking into a new security system called Krolmeister. Thing is, I worked in IT for a surveillance company during a semester of college, just as an intern.”

“Surv…eillance? Be they the ones who installed them cameras?” Foxy questioned as they passed one. He was rewarded with a nod.

“Yup.” Mike popped the p. “And I thought I knew of every neighboring company in the business. But I’ve never heard of the one he mentioned, and I couldn’t get a good look at his papers to verify if what he was saying was true.” Mike frowned. “I also didn’t have a chance to go home and Google it, so—“ He spotted the look in Foxy’s eyes. “Erh. To search the name myself.”

“I figure I can take a look in his office for more information. Just to, well. You know…see if he’s telling the truth.” Mike explained, and Foxy nodded. Something was nagging at the old fox, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“ _Snooping_ round the manager’s office, huh? I could sooo get you in trouble for that.” Came that mocking electronic voice. From the doorway of the storage room, Bonnie’s head and large ears leaned out. It was much like the way he stood outside the security office door—and that did nothing for Mike’s nerves. The boy jumped a little, stepping closer to Foxy on instinct. The fox glanced at this, but didn’t say anything.

“Shut it, Thumper.” Mike muttered, feeling emboldened with Foxy right there. Unless you counted those ears, which Mike didn’t. Foxy was taller than Bonnie.

Bonnie cackled, but turned back into the storage room. “Keep your hat on, nerd. I was just joking.” The rabbit vanished.

“That rabbit’s a real card all right.” Foxy commented, mostly for Mike’s sake than anything else.

“Yeah. And he oughta be decked.” Mike muttered bitterly, but it was harmless. If all Bonnie was gonna do was make teasing threats instead of _drag him to the backroom and horribly mutilate him_ , Mike would take as many jokes as the rabbit was programmed with.

Bonnie was a trickster, harmless now, but a trickster. Still, Mike felt better with Foxy beside him. They kept walking past the dreaded storage room. The fox went back to the topic at hand. Er, hook.

“What could he gain from lying, lad? And why didn’t ye question him yerself?”

“Uhm. At the time, I wasn’t sure yet. But the more I thought about it, the weirder I felt. It’s like…a feeling in my gut.” He placed his hand over the area. Foxy nodded wisely, though he had no organic comparison of his own.

“Yer a sharp lad fer that, following yer instincts.” Foxy appraised, pointing his hook at the night guard. It was simply a gesture though, nothing hostile about it.

Mike ducked his head in embarrassment at the compliment, and found himself outside the office door.

“Huh…not locked.”

“That strange?” Foxy drawled, tilting his head a bit.

“Kind of. Why wouldn’t the boss lock his own office?” He questioned out loud, turning the knob. “I sure don’t have a key to this room. But I’m glad we don’t have to break in.”

“Maybe he forgot.” Foxy cackled at the idea of an adult’s folly, and followed the lad in.

“I guess.” Mike didn’t sound too convinced, but he soon dropped the subject in favor of finding a light switch.

Once he had illuminated the room—the best the little standard watt could do in the desk lamp and over head—Mike and Foxy got to work. Foxy a little more slowly than Mike, as his hook might leave a mark and give them away. It was a room only a little bigger than the security office, but much cleaner and more organized. No cobwebs here. A cheerful post of Freddy beamed widely at them from a frame. The one window was closed to keep the fall air out, and the simply blue curtain was drawn. Both animatronic and human bent over the large wooden desk that faced the entrance. Mike stood in front of the desk chair—noting bitterly it was much better than his own—and began snooping about.

“Krolmeister…Krolmeister…” Mike sighed, riffling through papers. His second stack yielded better rewards. “Ahah! Here’s the paper I saw.” Foxy moved to look over his shoulder.

“…this looks like an order form.” Mike said, confusion lacing his tone.

“A list o’ goods, then?” Foxy asked.

“Yeah. See, it lists the parts in this column. Then the prices and then the total here.” Mike checked the date. “This order was put in about two weeks ago. The stuff must have been delivered by now. But, Foxy look…this doesn’t make any sense…”

“What, lad? My optics ain’t what the used to be.”

“Well…if Krolmeister was a security firm, there’d be correlating purchases, right? Cameras, cords, an installation fee. That sort of stuff.” The night guard explained with a sweep of his hand.

“Aye. And?”

“This stuff…” Mike frowned, brow knitting. “This is just…parts. Tech. Something you’d need to work with a schematic. None of its cheap, either. It just, this doesn’t make sense. What does the manager need this stuff for?” A pause, and then suddenly a new idea blossomed. Mike wasn’t sure if it was his own, but…

“And, for that matter, what is he _building_?” Mike finally asked, looking over his left to the pirate fox.

But Foxy wasn’t looking at him, but rather at something in front of them.

Mike turned, lifting his head to stare into the blackened gaze of none other than Freddy Fazbear.

…but something was wrong. Something seemed off about Freddy. The bear was twitching every so often, teeth gnashing. His massive paws formed fists big enough to break every bone in Mike’s hand. He wasn’t saying a word, just standing looming in the doorway and staring straight at the night guard.

Audibly, said night guard gulped.

“…lad.” Foxy’s tone was a mere breath, it was so soft.

“Y-yeah?” Mike fought to keep the shake from his voice, and failed. The papers slipped from his numbing fingers, his heart was a hummingbird in his chest. That gaze…Mike had seen it in his nightmares.

“ _Run_.”

Mike didn’t have to be told twice.

And the only reason Freddy didn’t grab him by the collar was because Foxy had gone right over the desk in a grand leap, and intercepted between the two.

“This ain’t the time fer one o’ yer malfunctions! Come to yer senses Captain, before ye do to the lad what ye did to Scott—“ Was all Mike heard as he fumbled around the corner and sprinted flat out down the hall. He turned a corner and smashed into something. It was big. And it was yellow.

Mike gasped in relief from the floor, sucking in air as he tried to speak at the same time to the bird’s back.

“Ch-Chica! Something’s wrong with Freddy, Foxy said he’s—“ Mike stopped cold, staring up at the open back plate in the bird’s head. Then Chica turned to look at him.

“Malfunctioning…” He whispered, noting it was the exact same, hatred filled gaze Freddy had given him.

Why was her endoskeleton exposed like that? What was that….blinking red light in there? Mike’s blood turned to ice. Staring down at him where familiar black holes where Chica’s eyes should be, as the chicken turned around laboriously, gears grinding as her jaw fell open.

“Shit. _Shit_.” He wheezed, trying to get his legs under him. By sheer luck and the animatronic’s age, Mike ducked Chica’s roaming wing-hand and scrambled back into a jog. From the other end of the pizzeria he heard the fighting of Foxy and Freddy, and knew he didn’t have much time. Foxy was in the worst shape comparably to the others, and Freddy was the most taken care of. He skidded round the corner, noting the shadowy figure at the end of the hall, with big ears and white pinpricks for eyes. The zombie like rabbit began stomping toward him. Bonnie too, then.

Something was wrong with the bots.

And the pieces were starting to come together.

Mike made a distressed noise, torn between terror and sympathy for them all. Bonnie was closer.

“Hang on guys. Just hang on.” He moaned, turned and skidding into the office. He slammed both doors, they closed with a relieving clang. Marionette was staring at him knowingly, and from under the desk he heard BB’s concerned and scared ‘Hi?’ Mike hushed him, but he couldn’t help but feel he was trying to reassure himself too.

Pressed against the door that had just saved his life and panting, Mike tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He sent up a little prayer to whoever felt like listening, and spoke to the bots even if they couldn’t hear him.

“I’m gonna fix this.” Mike closed his eyes, gasping for air. “Somehow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krolmeister is an Easter egg! It actually IS a security company in the point-and-click Nancy Drew games, some of my favorite games for the PC. I recommend Ghost of Thornton Hall if you like FNAF, or Shadow at the Water’s Edge. This chapter's song was 'Killer' by the Hoosiers.


	8. Re-Assembled Part 1

_“There's gonna be a mystery underneath those neon lights_   
_If you can't decipher just who's on your side_   
_You will not escape…the rising of the tide.”  
_ **8\. Re-Assembled Part 1**

Mike thought for sure that he was out of the business of ‘life-threatening.’ All he felt right now was that he had fallen out of the frying pan and right into the fire.

Maybe there was still a small chance, but it seemed too slim now. Mike was royally screwed, he had several hours to go and the animatronics clearly weren’t in their right minds. Before tonight, the only real threat had been Freddy, who was only vocally against Mike’s position from the start. A position Mike still didn’t understand the consequences of, apparently.

‘ _They call you the night guard—but do you actually know what it means to guard something? Especially a place like this?’_ Chica’s words from a previous night rang on cue in his head, her pleasant tone troubled.

But right now he’s got bigger things on his mind, and they’re heavy and huge and right outside his damn door.

“A-at least the generator won’t go out?” Mike gives a shaky grin at Marionette, who is too busy staring at the window where he can see their hulking, darkened forms. It doesn’t respond, and it takes Mike a moment to notice everyone is on the west hall door. They’re pounding on it, and for a split second Mike thinks the door is going to give way. It doesn’t of course, it’s been reinforced on purpose. Just for an occasion like this.

He wonders what happened to Foxy, with a horrible sinking feeling. Best case scenario, he was alright but had gotten corrupted too. Worse case, he had avoided the malfunction but was destroyed by Freddy. Marionette finally turned to really look at the human.

_‘History has a terrible habit of repeating itself, Night Guard.’_ And the Marionette sounds sad. It’s first time Mike can remember ever hearing such a woeful emotion. _‘Perhaps I made a mistake…’_

“A mistake?” Mike parroted. “In what— _me_?” Well now he felt miserable, like the puppet had no faith in him. But Marion shook its porcelain, painted head.

_‘No. Not in you. More in….the idea of you.’_

“Mari…” Mike started softly, feeling hurt and worried all at once.

But then _groaning_ started. Mike froze, and Marion fell abruptly silent. The ragged, faint noise sounded through the office, everywhere and nowhere at once. Mike startled and scrambled toward the present box. BB rocked out from under the desk, looking as scared as Mike felt.

“H-hi?” The little robot stuttered, finding solace behind Mike’s legs where it ducked behind and stayed put.

“Hhhh—hh-hhhhhh…” The whispering noise went again, sending shivers up the Night Guard’s spine. It faded, and so did the cacophony of noises outside the west door. No one dared to move inside the little office. Mike was aware of the sound of no noise, except for the whirling of the ancient fan. He could feel BB’s small hands clutching his pant leg, and his own heartbeat coursing through his entire body so fast he felt lightheaded. It took Mike several moments to get control of his breathing, to regulate and start to calm down.

The fear of the animatronics was swiftly replaced by a feeling of prolonged dread, because he knew what he had to do.

“I gotta go back out there.” Mike moaned, earning looks from the two robots that weren’t out to kill him.

Mike turned, (being careful not to dislodge the clinging BalloonBoy) and started yanking open drawers. He grabbed whatever he could find that could work as a weapon for self-defense. He wasn’t out to harm the robots, just slow them down a little. Any small problem on the animatronics could be fixed. But his skinny ass getting shoved into a suit was not something that could ever be remedied, and Mike knew both these things.

_‘You can’t be serious—‘_ said Marion when it noticed Mike was actually moving now.

“As a heart attack. Which is _probably_ what will end up killing me in the end. If the bots don’t get me first. So why delay the inevitable? There’s something in the back of Chica’s head,” Mike rambled on, missing Marion’s glance. “If I can just see what’s wrong with her, I should be able to, to restart her or something. And I just gotta do-fuck, useless!” he chucked a piece of paper over his shoulder. “Gotta do the same for the others. Easy!” He pocketed the menagerie of items. Two screwdrivers, three pens, and a flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it was better than going up against the crazed animatronics empty handed.

“Okay. Here goes…something.” Mike paused, eyeing the door Chica normally appeared out of. A quick check with both lights assured him no one was lurking outside the door. He grabbed the tablet on instinct and was relieved to see the power at 100%, despite how long the doors had been closed.

Mike flicked through the channels, spotting Bonnie in storage—his eyes were still black, fuck—Chica nowhere to be found—so she was in the kitchen—and two white pinpricks in the dining hall. He almost missed it, but his sense of desperation and adrenaline was thankfully being useful for once.

“I know where they are. If I can move fast enough, I get to them before they move again.” Mike decided, taking a step toward the east hall door.

Something was tugging at his pants.

“Hello? Hi!” The young voice was startled and apprehensive. ‘Don’t go!’ it sounded like. He glanced down to see BB, free hand still snagged on the fabric as the robot gazed owlishly up at him, looking anxious. Mike smiled and leaned down, gently but firmly extracting the little helium bot and setting him up on the desk beside Marionette’s box.

“Hey, no, c’mon. Don’t look like that little guy. Uh…things will be okay!” The little animatronic looked skeptical. “You stay with Mari, okay BB?” Mike said, remembering the box’s strange properties. “If anything happens, hide in there, okay?”

BB nodded, but he didn’t look happy about having to watch Mike go.

_‘You don’t have to do this.’_

“Sure I do.” Mike pitched a smile over his shoulder. “I’m the Night Guard.”

Hauling the flashlight out and holding it like a bat, Mike took several deep breaths.

“Mari, one thing.” Mike said, glaring faintly at the door as he amped himself up.

_‘Yes?’_

“Close the door behind me.” It wasn’t a request.

_‘…very well.’_

One the fifth breath, he slammed the open button and moved over the threshold. As soon as Mike’s sneaker disappeared around the corner, Marion’s finger held down the door button.

It slammed back down, and Marionette and BB were left alone.

“…hi.”

_‘Yes, BB.’_ Marion murmured absently, watching the door Mike had left out of. _‘Maybe my only mistake was in underestimating him.’_

* * *

Mike peeked around the corner, and was relieved to see only Freddy at the door. They had moved on him, but only Freddy had. Good. That meant the others were…somewhere else. And somewhere else meant he could focus on them individually. He had no clue where the hell Bonnie had gone, but Chica only liked certain spots, and Mike had just come from the east hall. She wasn’t there, so that logically left the kitchen. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure he could take them on one-on-one, but that sure sounded a lot better than just being rushed by all the animatronics. Mike twisted back around the corner of the long hallway, careful not to draw Fazbear’s attention.

_‘I’ll come back for you later, Freddy.’_ Mike promised to himself as he tip-toed toward the kitchen. One wrong move and…

But he made it into the kitchen without being spotted.

That was, until, he saw a familiar yellow form in the room.

“Just as I figured,” Mike spoke, trying to stop his voice from wavering. “Y-you really love your kitchen, huh girl?” The robot froze and dropped whatever she had been holding.

Chica turned and screeched at him—the noise was downright unholy and Mike prayed it wasn’t going to attract the others. Although with how loud it was, Mike wasn’t surprised she hadn’t woken the dead. She lumbered toward him, and it was so unlike her Mike paused in sympathy. Even when she had been out to get him, she never quite acted like _this_.

“Yikes!” Later, Mike would deny any high pitched noises he made as he danced around the kitchen’s islands, deftly avoiding the animatronic. He knew where Chica’s blind spots were, and knew she had a faulty left arm that couldn’t quite complete its rotation on the ball joint. He had promised to fix it as soon as possible, but right now he was glad he had forgotten to.

It was his only saving grace as the chicken robot tried to throttle him.

There was clearly no talking them out of this state, and Mike kept his eyes locked on the little swinging door on the back of her head. Someone—or some _thing_ —had exposed her motherboard’s outer shell, right into her delicate endoskeleton and had...done what? With all the moving, Mike couldn’t make it out just yet what was different.

But he had a plan.

Leaping out of the way, he narrowly avoided being smashed into a tangle of pots and pans. Chica however, could not out maneuver her own self and crashed clumsily into them. It wasn’t enough to actually stop her, but it was enough to slow her down as she tried to free herself. Mike ignored the crashing and banging and scrambled around to her back. The flashlight came out and illuminated the area he could just reach. He reached up quickly, fingers slipping across the out of place chip that wouldn’t let the back of her head close.

_‘One of these things is not like the other—‘_ Came a ludicrous joke to Mike, who almost laughed at himself if the situation weren’t so dire. He was nuts for taking this job, and even crazier for staying.

“Almost…got it—dammit!” He yelped as Chica’s good arm slammed into him and dug, hard. Mike cried out, freeing himself on instinct and adding several inches to the gouges in his forearm. The torn flesh immediately bled, landing in tiny splats as he scrambled out of her way. He cradled his good arm, and in his slowing down was shoved against one of the freezer doors. The handle dug into his back and he grimaced, trying to get out of the blundering bird’s way.

“C-Chica, c’mon you gotta snap out of it!” He bit his lip, realizing what he had to do. The flashlight was abandoned for a moment, and Mike stood still as Chica lumbered her way toward him, closing the distance surprisingly fast.

She neared—and Mike jolted forward—a flash of silver and—SHHK!

The animatornic pulled back in rage, the screwdriver lodged deep in her already fault arm socket. Unable to move it all, she had to get out if she wanted to continue her chase. Going around her jammed arm, Mike ducked and pivoted sharply, right behind Chica. He looked ridiculous, jumping up and putting the chicken in a headlock, but it worked. Keeping on arm around her neck as she tried to do two things at once, Mike’s fingers found purchase in the back of her head once more, only his fingers found a switch. It was like a dimmer switch, with only so many levels to choose from.

“I wonder what this thing does…” He gasped out, foot catching the counter as Chica tried swinging him off her back. Mike just kept his hold, and pushed up higher on her, wincing as his hip was slammed into the corner of the marbletop.

“Fucking—shit—ow!” He grabbed the switch and pushed it all the way down, wondering if—

0.

The robot froze mid thrash. Her jaw came loose and swung, many teeth exposed as she stood there, black-eyed and still. Mike gasped out in relief, now dangling from the still robots back.

“…Chica?” Mike panted, slowly releasing her and slipping to the ground. “…so that’s what that does.” Blood was smeared all over Chica’s right side, Mike’s blood. His arm felt like it was on fire, but the pain was numbing down slowly. He winced and went back to his task.

Removing the foreign chip in the back of her head was the easiest thing he’d done all night. Stowing it away in his pocket, Mike took several breaths before finally pushing the plate up to where it had been. He kept his fingers there though, waiting for the first sign of aggression from the robot. He didn’t want to, but he would hit her kill switch again if it would keep them both safe.

Instead, the robot came back to life and crashed onto the ground.

“Chica!” Mike yelped, falling to his knees beside her quickly and trying to help her right herself.

She groaned, but her voice box normal once more. “Mike…?” She sounded dazed. Mike’s shoulders dropped in relief. She was holding her head like she had a headache, and maybe she did. Stranger things had happened on this job than an animatronic who could register pain.

“Hey—you’re bleeding. Did I do that?” She asked, voice sounding small. Mike smiled and shook his head.

“Nah, it wasn’t you. I’m a total klutz, remember?” He said, and the bird just nodded weakly, looking troubled.

“Oh, gosh. What hit me?” she whimpered, and Mike felt a bolt of protectiveness flare to life within him. He instantly thought of the others, of Foxy, and swallowed thickly.

“I dunno, Chica.” He said, helping her lean against the wall of the kitchen. “But I’m gonna find out.”

And poor exhausted, confused Chica isn’t used to such a bold tone from their skinny, jumpy night guard. But she isn’t about to question it, not when it’s so reassuring. She nodded weakly, holding her head and let Mike explain the situation.

* * *

In the end, Mike left Chica recuperating in the kitchen. He did so only after making her promise she would head _right_ to the office as soon as she felt well enough to walk. Chica agreed, but countered with one condition.

“Be careful, alright?” Her optics strayed to his bloodied arm and the way he favored a leg. “Oh, Mike…I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I, I never meant—“

“I know, hey, I know.” He soothed quickly, offering a smile to show no hard feelings. “You just had a little bug, was all. I act weird when I’m sick too, okay?”

“Okay…”

Mike had to leave, despite wanting to stick around and ease her worries more. He took a right instead of a left, putting more distance between himself and the office as he headed toward the west wing of the pizzeria. He had barely gone seven feet before he heard a shuffling behind him.

Wrapping his fingers around his last remaining screw driver buried in his pocket—shit, he had left the other one in Chica’s arm—Mike took strength in the cool metal and turned slowly. He came face to face with Bonnie the bunny, and Mike swallowed.

One look at the rabbit, and Mike took hold of the pen too. He clicked it open softly, needing to fiddle with _something_ to keep his nerve and not take off screaming.

“H…hey Bon.” Mike managed, already starting to sweat again. His heart thudded in his chest, but he struggled to ignore it. “You look, uhm, good.” No answer. Mike took a deep breath and then burst out,

“…bunny wanna carrot?”

The bunny hissed faintly, taking a rocky shuffle at him. One step at a time. Mike sucked in all his breath and took a step back in time with the bunny. Something purple flashed in his peripheral. There was a familiar clank of metal on muted metal. Oh.

Foxy’s jaw made that sound.

Bonnie lunged, and Mike took a chance. He darted the short distance to Pirate’s Cove entrance, and vanished between the curtains.

Instantly he caught sight of Foxy, the pirate grabbing his wrist and pulling him in deeper.

“Foxy!” He managed in a hushed whisper, relief evident. “You’re alright! I, I thought you were—“

“Takes more than a little brawl to put ole’ Foxy out of business, lad.” Foxy said, pulling Mike not so discreetly behind him as a purple figure ripped apart the curtains and stepped up on the stage.

“…you up for another one?” Mike asked warily, giving the fox the chance to back out now. Bonnie was only after Mike, it seemed.

But the fox shook his head, refusing to budge from his protective stance in front of the night guard.

“Ain’t losing another one, lad.”

Mike frowned, feeling like Foxy wasn’t talking about losing a fight. Not with the way he was growling, the deep noise reverberating in his metal chest. The only noise Mike thought was scarier was Freddy’s growls. Foxy won out against Bonnie in terms of raw intimidation. It was probably the hook and teeth.

But then Bonnie was coming at them, and instinct took over most thoughts.

Mike bolted, whereas Foxy remained in place and swung his hook up, grabbing the rabbit by the shoulder. His hook dug deep and pierced it, and Foxy used the rabbit’s momentum to swing him around in a different direction than Mike was in. The resulting effect was good for them, bad for Bonnie. Dizzied and staggering, Bonnie’s optics couldn’t seem to decide which of the three Mikes to go after. He settled on the one in the middle, and threw a punch. Mike moved, but it was too late, he was slammed in the jaw and sent into the pirate ship prop.

The rabbit’s frenzied actions and jerking had sent it careening into the _Red Fox_ as well, Foxy’s prized ship. Another careless backhand from the incensed animatronic and Bonnie had to grab something to keep from falling over. What he grabbed turned out to be one of the lines of rope holding the ship up. His weight, combined with age and the nibbling of mice, caused the rope to snap and the ship to sway ominously from the loss of structure. From the sheer and sudden weight, the opposite side gave up the ghost and snapped as well. Foxy noticed immediately, and so did Mike—if only because the towering prop was threatening to fall on them all.

“Me _ship_!! That be it! Keelhaul that rabbit!” Foxy raged, grabbing the tension rope that had been sliced by the rabbit’s careless thrashing. His efforts alone kept the wobbling prop from toppling right down. Mike saw the problem and quickly grabbed the cut rope on the other side of the ship. He knew right away he didn’t have the physical strength to help Foxy hold the ship in place, but he held on anyway and leaned all of his entire body back on the rocking ship.

It worked, for now.

Bonnie was storming closer to them now—to Mike—his white eyes focused and narrowed in that strange, robotic-like blind rage. Mike whined and struggled to back up while keep hold of the tension line. The _Red Fox_ shuddered, the gravity fighting the pirate fox and the human. Foxy tightened his hold and kept the rope taught, but Mike’s sneakers lost traction and he had to move to avoid Bonnie’s swinging arm.

“We have to let go!” Mike cried, scrambling to the left and finding his back in the corner of Pirate’s Cove. With no where left to go, and Mike unwilling to let go of the _Red Fox’s_ ropes, Bonnie advanced.

“What? Have ye gone off the deep end, boy!?” Foxy snapped right back, trying to tie his end of the line to a post. Curse this blasted hook!

“No—I just—gyah!” His flustered explanation ended in a cry of pain, earning the fox’s attention. He tore his gaze from his precious ship to see Bonnie’s bloodied paw rake through Mike’s previous wound from Chica. The rabbit had tried to grab his forearm to drag him away, and the only reason Mike had struggled free was a combination pulling and the slick arm that was coated in his own blood.

“Mike!” Leaving the rope half finished, the fox abandoned the task and sprinted at Bonnie, using the rabbit’s focus on Mike to shoulder check the animatronic into the wall and away from the sagging night guard. His grip hadn’t wavered on the lead line, but he was bleeding more profusely now and it would definitely require stitches.

Bonnie had been knocked clean to the floor in a second offensive strike by the furious pirate, and narrowly missed getting an ear bitten clean off by a snapping jaw. With space between Bonnie and Mike, and the rabbit knocked into a daze in front of the _Red Fox_ , Foxy stole a moment to go reattach the slipping line he had just tried to fix. If his ship fell, the thing would never recover and where would he be?

On the other hand, if he lost _Mike_ —

“Ya gotta trust me Foxy! _Please_!” Mike shouted, holding the rope as well as he could. But his grip was slipping, sooner rather than later the stage prop was going to go. Not to mention his arm was burning from the pain of being reopened. If Mike continued to try and stop it he could get seriously hurt. Well, more than he already was.

Foxy stared at him, jaw pushed into place. And for what seemed like an eternity, Foxy nodded.

“Aye, lad…one three.”

Mike’s shoulders slumped in relief and he nodded back, face set in grim determination. Though they didn’t speak aloud, they apparently didn’t have to. Mike loosened his grip on the other side. Foxy’s hook came through his tension line and snapped his rope cleanly.

The towering prop creaked.

Relief flooded Mike, and he let go of the rope currently digging into his palms. Fire erupted from the strain, but the tilting support was finally given its freedom.

_Three_.

With the ominous sound of moaning bark, the _Red Fox_ swayed and toppled tipped. The fabric sails waved in the wind as it careened with surprising slowness. But it began to pick up speed, heedless of the malfunctioning Bonnie trying to back out from underneath the collapsing prop. The cannons remained on their boxes, but the ropes swung and fluttered down as the ship smashed into the floor, the wall, and finally Bonnie with a crash that shook Mike’s bones.

The dust hadn’t even settled before Mike was climbing over the splintered wreckage of the _Red Fox._ He tripped over Bonnie and nearly broke his neck, but managed to haul out his last screwdriver he had. The rabbit had fallen on his stomach, to their great fortune. Thanks to his sudden entrapment, like Chica, there was a plate in the back of his head open. It had previously been hard to see around the ears and the fact Bonnie loomed in the shadows. The rabbit struggled feebly, servos whining. Slamming the AI to 0, Mike removed the chip faster than he had on Chica. It was much easier since he had already done it once. Bonnie was now deathly still under him, but Mike only drew back and pocketed the weird programming chip. He stowed it away and turned when he heard a muted tune from outside Pirate’s Cove. Toreador March was playing, faded and soft, like a siren song in the distance. Mike’s arm was a numb mess of ragged flesh and almost shiny with the amount of blood on it. The shallowest gouges had drying thankfully, keeping him from losing too much of the crimson liquid. He hoped it looked worse than it actually was. His hip and leg ached horribly, and his palms were blistered bare from trying to hold the rope.

But Toreador March was still playing.

No rest for the weary.

“…Freddy’s still out there.” Mike muttered, grim despite the accomplishment of freeing two of his friends now. He hoped Chica was fully back online and she’d managed to hide in the office with the others. Though he paused to push what pieces of wood he could off the downed rabbit, he didn’t linger too long and soon headed for the exit.

“Lad, yer not…going after Fazbear?” Foxy muttered delicately.

“Got no choice, Captain. Whether I want to or not…someone’s got to help.” Mike explained desperately, picking his way toward the end of the stage. “I’m not asking you to come with me—we’re lucky he didn’t finish you off the first time—“

“Wasn’t the first time.”

“…what?”

“I’ve seen that side o’ him before, matey.” The fox explained softly, voice dark and even. Mike turned to stare at his friend, picking up on the pain laced through the animatronic’s tone.

“Last time it happened, I couldn’t stop him from getting a good man.” Foxy muttered when he saw Mike staring, and he dropped his gaze from the human regretfully. Mike shook his head in confusion.

“You mean—“ Mike fought to recall what he’d overheard. “Scott?”

“Aye. The guard before you.” Foxy answered. Mike’s brow knit in pity.

“The guy who left me those phone calls. You, you tried to save him, didn’t you.” _‘He told me to respect them all. He wasn’t afraid of them. He loved the animatronics.’ _

“We tried ta save em all.”

“We?”

“Chica, Bonnie, and meself.”

“From…from Freddy?”

“Aye. It’s been getting worse, though. Ain’t never seen him…this bad.” The fox admitted. “He hasn’t been himself lately.”   
  
Mike pulled out the chip. “No…he hasn’t, I guess. But… whatever this thing turns Freddy _into_ is to blame. Not, not him.” Another thought hit the young man, and he looked at Foxy to see his expression when he said, “You guys—you _knew_ all along something was wrong with him.”

The pirate fox blanched, ducking his gaze a second time before fixing his optics on Mike. He answered honestly, which is all anyone could ask for in a situation like this.

“In the beginning we thought it was stress, couldn’t blame him for that. This place has gotta dark past, Mike. Every time we’d get close to the problem, something’d… _happen_. It’s hard to explain. Me memory gets foggy, an’ I just can’t recall…”

“Someone tampered with you then.” Mike realized softly. “But, but _you_ didn’t get one of these chips. So whoever is fucking with the others doesn’t think you’re online. It’s someone who _works_ here.”

**Ru rg xzm’g yv gsv lmv gizkkvw rm olxph zmw hkirmth… _GSVM HLNVLMV VOHV NFHG YV KFOORMT GSV HGIRMTH._**

Mike winced and shut his eyes for a second. That deep, garbled jumbled of speech hadn’t ever been this loud or angry. Foxy noticed, but only Mike’s reaction. He apparently couldn’t hear the other voice— _no one_ ever acknowledged it, come to think of it. Strange.

“Yah’alright, Mike?” He asked, concern evident on his metal features.

“Fine.” Mike muttered, rubbing his temple with his good arm. “Just a…a headache.”

Confused, injured and worried, Mike frowned. Powder blue eyes remained trained on the floor as he paced in place. “And, and the chip in Chica was installed so poorly her head wouldn’t close. _Someone_ would have noticed that before. This all only happened tonight. Which means maybe…whoever did this to the others—“

“Might still be in the pizzeria!” Foxy finished with a snarl, anger flashing through his eyes. Mike nodded.

“They could have been right under your noses the whole time, but you were too busy with Freddy to bother looking for someone who shouldn’t be here. Wait here for a minute, then turn Bonnie back online—no buts,” Mike cut him off when the Fox looked like he wanted to protest. “Fill him in, and then I need you to go look for anyone that might be hiding around here. You’re the fastest, so I know you can stop anyone from getting away, Captain.” Mike stopped his pacing, nodding as the new plan formed. This might work.

It _had_ to.

“Maybe they haven’t left yet. If this chip was controlling them, it might run off frequency. And the controller would need to be within the building to pull all this off.”

“…aye’aye.” Foxy grumbled, seeing Mike had several points. He didn’t look too pleased with letting Mike go up against Freddy alone, but Mike felt better now that he knew the chip was to blame. Maybe Freddy didn’t hate him as much as Mike had been lead to believe?

“Hey, Foxy, no worries.” Mike held his hands out as he strolled for the curtain, walking backwards. He managed a smile, his bruised jaw aching. “I’ve saved Bonnie and Chica already—how hard could old Fazbear be?” He tried to down play it. Foxy shot him a dark look, which Mike volleyed with a wave of his hand and a shrug.

“As soon as I hit that AI switch the big guy’s lights will be out.” He pointed out.

Easier said than done. Foxy’s critical glance said as much.

Mike choose to ignore it for the time being, and headed for the dining room.

All the animatronics seemed to remain around their favorite haunts. Chica had been in the kitchen, Bonnie in the west hall, which left Freddy in only a handful of places. Especially since they had seemed to think this was the first night all over again.

And…wait for it…yep.

There it was.

The music box notes were louder now.

Swallowing his heart to try and push it back down his throat, Mike Schmidt placed a shaking hand on the door into the dining hall. He really wished Marionette was here right now, and he was starting to have second guesses about making Foxy stay behind. He remained like this only for a moment, before his brain kicked a neuron in gear and he berated himself mentally. He ran a less bloody hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes, for all the good it did.

Standing here cowering wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all Freddy.

_‘Here we go…’_

The final notes of Toreador March plinked into the silence, leaving the pizzeria its dark and gloomy self. Summoning as must courage as he could muster, Mike took a step. Then another. And another. He thought of his mom, thought of the Marionette, of the animatronics and what Chica meant when she asked him about truly knowing what it meant _to be a security guard._ Mike pushed the doors of the dining hall and stepped forward.

And into the hell that waited within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used, ‘The Rising Tide’ by the killers.


	9. Re-Assembled Part 2

_“I think there’s a flaw in my code,_   
_these voices won’t leave me alone._   
_well my heart is gold and my hands are cold…”  
_ **9\. Re-Assembled Part 2**

What Mike saw, he did not expect.

It was by sheer luck the two things in the room had their backs to him, and he had his flashlight off. He stopped the door he’d come through just before it could make any noise and give away his position. Thinking fast, Mike quickly ducked under a long table. He was leery of hiding under the booths along the wall—that would just stick him in a corner. At least a table had four potential sides to flee from.

“Soon we’ll be rid of that annoying brat.” Said someone in a pleasant voice. Their voice was muffled, but it was male. The speaker stood behind a slumped, still Freddy. They were digging about in the back of the offline bear’s head, and faint clicks could be heard. The figure wore all black, even a ski mask over their face.

_‘To avoid their facial recognition,’_ Mike realized faintly as he watched. Mike closed his eyes, but his heart was still thundering in his chest. His crouched position under the table didn’t exactly help his breathing, which he was trying to hold any way to keep from getting their attention.

Or…the stranger’s anyway. Freddy seemed pretty out of it.

The man jerked something into place roughly, and then found the AI dial. He had to do this with one hand, because he picked up a flat black box with dials and buttons on it, and stood still as Freddy powered up. The robot staggered, trying to get control of his position from being turned on so harshly. The robot seemed dazed and a little shaky, something Mike was quick to pick up on.

‘ _Annnd he changed the AI. Wonderful.’_ Mike thought dryly. If 0 was off, then what was the max? How high did the number go and more importantly, what had this guy set Freddy’s to? A number poor Freddy clearly couldn’t handle. He was staggering and jerking every so often, body whrring like a computer with a broken fan and an overloaded motherboard.

A gloved hand smashed into the bear’s sensitive jaw, sending his acrylic teeth clanging. The black eyed animatronic jerked and recoiled as if hurt by the action, unable for some reason to fight back. The remote controller, maybe? Despite himself, Mike felt his blood boil, and he bit his tongue to keep from shouting something he’d regret. Before Freddy had gone off the reservation, they had hardly been friends. But that didn’t mean Mike _wanted_ to see someone get mistreated.

He didn’t like bullies.

“Get a hold of yourself, you stupid bear!” Hissed the intruder. “And don’t screw this up again.” Freddy stared blankly down at the man who had control over him. He was hitting dials and switches on the little remote control. The bear’s optics whirred and focused, and the bear began walking mechanically toward the dining hall exit.

“Destroy _anyone_ who gets in your way this time—I can rebuild your ratty friends you’re so fond of.” He spit, sounding amused. Then his tone darkened, melting into something that was bitter and frustrated.

“But _find_ that pesky night guard. And _put him_ where he belongs.” Without another word, the man stowed the control box away and headed quickly for the exit, black shoes tap-tapping from the brisk stride. He would be gone long before the malfunctioning Fazbear could make it to the east hall.

Not a bad set up. Leaving to avoid the bear’s warpath, and at 6am Freddy would lock himself down on the stage come morning and no one would be any the wiser. Least of all Freddy, it seemed.

Mike panicked. If he went after the guy, Freddy was bound to find the others. And with his AI jacked up, the bear was much more enabled for a fight than them. On the other hand, if Mike intercepted the bear before he could leave the dining hall, there was a _serious_ chance he’d get his ass handed to him well before the cavalry could arrive.

Precious seconds came and went, and Mike had yet to make a choice. Freddy was almost at the doors.

The man was pushing the exit—he had a _key_ —and just as the entrance closed, just as Mike started to move his aching body, there was a noise.

“Hello!”

Freddy paused. His head turned toward the noise, twitching a bit as he snarled in confusion. It had come from the stage. But then there was silence, and Freddy made another move to leave.

A boy’s giggle sounded from behind the curtain.             

_‘I’m going to buy you SO many helium tanks, BB.’_

This time Freddy did more than turn, he took a few hesitant steps toward the stage. When nothing happened, the glitching Freddy grew quickly impatient. With only an irritated snarl thrown at the distracting noise, Freddy finally deemed it not important and pushed the doors. Mike shut his eyes, teeth gritted because oh god, Freddy wasn’t buying it and now they really didn’t have a chance—

“ _Bzzt— I don’t mind another body in here I guess.”_ A glitchy, worn recording of Mike’s voice came from the area BB was hiding in. The tape sounded well used, and copied over many times.

But it still sounded like Mike.

Well that got Freddy’s attention. After all, he was searching for the owner of that voice.

The currently confused security guard froze in his spot under the table, mind in overdrive.

_‘He…he can record voices—holy fuck!’_ Mike waited to see how this would play out, curious as to how focused on his task was Freddy. Could he be tricked with his own directive?

_“Shhzzt! What--what exactly did he pick me for? I mean, I was already hired to watch this place at night—szzt.”_

For an instant, Mike worried the bear wouldn’t buy the trick. But then Mike could hardly breathe as the giant feet of Freddy stomped inches from the table cloth he was hiding under. Slowly, Freddy shuffled toward the stage, grumbling faintly as he moved. It wasn’t fast enough for BalloonBoy, though.

A final audio bite sprung to life.

_“I’m—I’m the night—night guard.”_

That did it.

With a bellowing screech, Freddy was up and on the stage in the time it took for Mike to scramble out from under the table.

“Hey!” He shouted, earning the bear’s attention. “I’m over here, big guy! Whassamater!? They didn’t program comprehension into your hard-drive?” For good measure, he took out his last weapon—the flashlight—and chucked it straight at the bear, suddenly fearful of what Freddy would do to the smaller, slow moving bot if he caught him. Nope. Mike wasn’t about to let that happen.

The flashlight flew true, smashing into Freddy’s shoulder and hitting the stage where it rolled.

Mike was literally poking the bear, and he knew it was the stupidest idea he’d had all night, but it worked. Confused but too enraged to stop and think, Freddy started for the night guard he that could see. Thankfully, BalloonBoy must have been thinking along the same lines as Mike was. Darting under another random table, Mike appeared to vanish. A familiar voice erupted behind Freddy before he could register the disappearing act.

_“Shhzt. You can call—call me Mike, you know. Call me Mike—e-e-ssht.”_

Freddy twisted around, pausing in-between the two spots and trying to decipher which was the real one and which direction he should go in to fulfill his directive.

When he took a step toward the last spot he had _seen_ his target, BB quickly tried again, peeking out from behind the stage curtain.

“ _Bsszht_. _I’m—I’m the night—night guard.”_ Came from his worn speakers.

Freddy ignored the sound bite this time, recognizing it as one he had heard already and deeming it the imposter. Their luck had run out. Mike felt and heard the arrival of the moving bear, and scrambled out of the way when the table and chairs were thrown or knocked out of the way. A paw bigger than his hand caught him by the ankle and hauled him up into the air, where he dangled helplessly.

“Gyaahh!” Mike thrashed, the upside down pizzeria swaying nauseatingly. “Fuck, fucking FUCK, shit—p-put me down! Freddy, don’t do this!” He pleased, but desperation was growing.

The bear snarled right by his ear, and unfortunately choose to listen to Mike. Put him down indeed. Mike felt what going to happen seconds before it actually did.

“W-wait nonono—“ But Freddy turned, and the arm holding Mike by the ankle swung him around and _down_.

His entire body came crashing into an upright table and broke it cleanly in half. The legs of it went, the table cloth flapped uselessly as chairs went skidding and Freddy pulled back to see his handiwork. Mike rolled uselessly off the broken table, sporting a nose bleed and his good arm, which was now only a Slightly-Better-Than-the-Bleeding-One, was clutching his torso. Bangs hung in his face and he looked paler than he had a split second ago.

“Oh… _fuck_ …” Mike managed, sucking air shakily.

“Hello?” BalloonBoy sounded closer than he had on the stage, he must have been coming toward them.

“Stay…stay back! BalloonBoy, don’t get near Freddy—“ Mike gasped out, the wind taken right from his sails. One more hit like that, and Mike would be out for good. His voice sounded like it was cracking but he didn’t care. A shadow fell over him. He glanced up fearfully, unable to stop the paw grabbing his collar and lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Mike cried out weakly, releasing his probably cracked if not broken ribs to clutch at the bear’s wrist.

Mike looked behind him, seeing the stage only a few feet away. The flashlight caught his eye.

He would be higher than Freddy on the stage. A plan formed.

“What’s…what’s your problem, bear?” Mike managed weakly, turning back to stare down at the zombie-like Freddy. The bear’s eyes narrowed as Mike managed a cocky grin. “How ya gonna stuff me if I’m still alive and kicking? S…stupid bear.” He did his best to mimic the voice of the guy from earlier.

Recognition flashed like lightning in the bear’s deep blue gaze. Fazbear went from anger to livid in the time it took for his overloaded processor to register Mike’s taunting words. With a growl, the bear pulled back a fist and flat-out punched Mike at the same time as he released him.

Another rib down, but the resulting impact had sent Mike flying exactly where he wanted to go. His back hit the smooth wood of the stage and he slid only a few feet. God, it fucking hurt, even fiber of his body was protesting in some way or other. He felt like shit and things were only going to get worse before they got better. But…

His plan worked. Despite it all, Mike bared his teeth in a triumphant, if weak, grin as he rolled over. His hand caught the flashlight handle. He gripped it.

“Gotcha.” He wheezed, hauling his protesting body up as Freddy started for the stage. Bringing up the flashlight, Mike swung it like a baseball bat, smashing it dead into the bear’s head and sending the whole thing part spinning. Freddy stumbled, optics blinded and he let loose a muffled roar. It would have been comical in any other setting, to see Freddy with his head backward, just tripping over his own feet as he grabbed his head and tried to twist it back into place.

But his staggering had exposed his back, which was exactly what Mike was hoping for. As soon as Mike saw Freddy had his head back on, he pushed off the stage and leapt. His arms came around the bear, who roared in surprise and twisted uselessly. Mike slipped but tightened his hold, crying out at the exertion it was taking just to hang on and not be thrown off.

His fingers found the plate door in the center of Fazbear’s head, jammed closed. Mike pried it just as Bonnie and Foxy ran into the dining hall. He thought he saw Chica on their heels as Freddy spun, still grasping for the cling-on guard.

“Lad!” He heard Foxy cry, but didn’t take his attention off the bear. Almost…had it…

His fingers found the chip slot.

But Freddy almost had _him_. One more jerk and Mike would have to let go or he’d black right out. It was now or never. With no time to get the AI slot, Mike just straight up ripped the stupid chip out of the bear’s head.

Freddy was free.

But it was too late for Mike, because as this happened Freddy threw himself back, sending them both crashing into the stage front. Mike was between the animatronic and stage, and thus took nearly the entirety of the fall.

“MIKE!” The shout was all of the remaining robots, each desperate and panicked as Freddy stilled eerily from the quick reboot.

Beneath him, there was no noise at all, only a single limb sticking out. The hand was limp.

“G-get him off of Mike! Quick, he’s crushing him!” Chica shouted at the boys when they seemed frozen uselessly in place. She was holding Marionette’s closed box, else she have done it herself.

The bunny and fox jerked to life as if shocked. They scrambled forward, hauling their leader off the crumpled form of Mike Schmidt. Freddy groaned at the moving, Mike was entirely unresponsive to the jostling, even when Bonnie cautiously toed his side with his foot. His body just shifted lifelessly, eyes closed.

“B-Bonnie!” Chica hissed, but she sounded too panicked to mean it.

They almost didn’t notice when Freddy started picking himself off the floor.

“Urghh…my harddrive. What in blazes…” Perhaps because Mike hadn’t shut the bear down, he seemed to remember all the terrible things that had transpired before his hard reset. He did not however, understand the last few moments, and therefore looked more confused and dizzy than the livid killer they had seen seconds ago. Notwithstanding the reason, the bear quickly turned to look for the man who had saved him from committing the unspeakable act of murder.

Not to mention freeing him from that, that _maniac_.

“Michael!?”

He turned, getting a firsthand look at the damage and destruction he’d caused. At least when they got stuffed into suits, he never saw much besides eyeballs. But this was…

This was _horrible_.

Their fall had broken some of the stage, Freddy’s impressive girth shattered through the old wood, and created a neat Mike sized hole. His body was uncomfortably draped into the indentation, head tipped back and one arm flopped over his stomach. His back had splinters of wood in his shirt, and one arm looked like the Mangle had gotten a hold of it. There was blood everywhere—very important to children and adults alike, Freddy knew. There seemed to be too much of it out of the guard’s body though, and it made Freddy feel ill at the sight of the bloodied, beaten up man. Especially knowing he had done this. Sure, he wasn’t _happy_ about another night guard being chosen by Marionette—hadn’t that damn puppet learned the first time with Scott? No one could help them!

Except Mike could. And he had.

No matter how much he disliked the man, Freddy had _never_ wanted this.

Guilt washed over the bear, and Freddy took a step toward the motionless body.

“I don’t, how did he…” As the programmed leader of the Fazgang, rarely was he left speechless. That just wasn’t something a performer did. But this, this was different.

“He freed ya from that _sickness_ , Fazbear.” Foxy explained, bearing his sharp teeth a little when Freddy dared take a step toward the man. “Freed the others too, he did. Coulda stayed behind and left ya to us, but _no_. Idiot had to do it himself, he came and rescued yer tan hide.”

Sweeping his arm to gesture his hook at Mike’s broken body, he met Freddy’s gaze with a bitter, angry glint. “Do he meet yer standards fer Night Guard _now_? Or do’ya need more proof?”

Freddy was, understandably, shamed and silent at the words. He stared down at Mike.

“Oh, Mikey…” That was Chica, covering her mouth in an oddly human gesture.

“Lay off, Foxy,” Bonnie muttered, starting to try and pick Mike up out of the mess he was just lying in. The lifeless pose unnerved the rabbit. That and he wanted to try and get those shards of wood out of his back before he bled out all over on the floor.

“You know he didn’t mean it.” The rabbit paused, holding a thin human arm that looked least broken. His grip was rather tender. “…you didn’t right? It was all the chip’s doing?”

“Of course it was!” Freddy shouted, eyes wide at the brief uncertainty his dearest friend had shown him. He neared Mike and bent down, meaning to prove his point.

“I thought—I hoped if I scared Michael off, he _wouldn’t_ end up like Scott.” Freddy confessed quietly, head bowed. “The fifth night…it’s always on this night, ain’t it. Ever since the kids were…” Freddy trailed off.

The three bots shared looks. They remembered Scott, it was clear Freddy did too. He had taken the man’s’ death terribly hard; especially when it became evident he had the most hand in the killing. No adult had cared for them more than Scott had; he had stuck by them even when everyone blamed them for the Bite, or for the murders of those sweet children. And then, his own paws bloodied with a friend’s life…

And all for what? Someone had controlled him, overridden everything that made Freddy, well, Freddy. Even now, the bear can imagine the lurking figure in the back of his mind. Forcing him to do things, to hunt down every night guard that they came across. To hunt and _kill_ Scott, when all he had ever done was try to understand them, and find out who had killed those children.

And now the same fate had befallen Michael.

Freddy glanced at the puppet’s box, a little surprised to see the creature so unlike their little group hovering over his box. Marion had retreated right back into the basement along with his ‘friend’ the instant Scott had died, like a ghost or a shadow of a memory. At the time, Freddy had thought of the puppet as a coward—after all, Marion had gotten them into this mess, thinking a human could solve their problems. An _Adult_ , no less. But looking back, Freddy thinks that maybe…maybe it was Marion’s way of mourning the loss of a friend.

As robots, they certainly weren’t used to death. Even the Marionette would have difficulty grasping the concept, especially when it had cheated it five times already. It must have been even more of a challenge to lay its trust in someone who held the same job as both the killer and protector. Especially when the protector had failed, and the killer had been the One Who Got Away.

Who’s to say Mike wouldn’t have gone down the path of the purple man?

Marionette had no way of knowing.

And yet…

The puppet’s strange powers were miraculous, but not without the proper connection. Marion’s lack of movement implied it could not fix Mike, no matter how much it wanted to. And its expression implied it truly was sorry for having lost the man.

Shaking his head to remove the cobwebs of the past, Freddy carefully scooped Mike’s body up from the wreckage and held him as gently as he could muster. This left him with an arm round the man’s shoulders and the other under his bent knees. Foxy didn’t stop him this time, which spoke volumes.

Freddy shifted the young man a little, trying to ignore the way his head lolled against the bear’s shoulder.

“…I’m sorry, Michael.” He muttered, knowing the others had circled around him. Protective of the man, even now. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not my— _our_ —freedom in exchange for _yours_.”

He tried to explain, if only for his own closure.

“You always…this theatrical?” Came a low, tired sigh from the night guard’s lips. Blue met blue when the bear turned to stare down at the man lying in his arms. Freddy jerked in surprise and quite nearly dropped him, causing Mike to elicit feeble whines at the jostling on his wounds.

“Oh, god…everything hurts. E-easy big guy, easy.” He tried to pat the short fur on the bear’s chest he was clutched against, hoping to calm him. He couldn’t find the energy to lift his good hand but Freddy got the message and let the others swarm.

“Lad!”

“Mikey—you’re okay! You are okay right?!”

“Hello? Hi!” Only Marion and Mike knew what BB had said.

“He’s awake isn’t he!?” Bonnie said to Chica but he was staring in delight at the night guard.

_‘Awake does not mean healed…’_ The Marionette corrected softly. _‘But I also am relieved to see you haven’t expired from your mortal shell, Night Guard.’_

“Gee, you know I would have felt better if you just said you missed me, Mari.” Mike let his head drop onto Fazbear’s shoulder, content to lie in the grasp of his once would be killer. He was too damn tired to give a flying fuck. Freddy sure sounded earnest when he gave his apology, and Mike knew he couldn’t exactly stand on his own.

All was forgiven, especially since he had seen firsthand what was truly going on. Poor Freddy.

“Hey…Freddy.” Came a small voice from the slumped night guard.

Freddy made a noise, turning his emotional gaze back down to the man he was holding protectively tight. It felt like if someone tried to take him away, Freddy would unleash unholy Hell on them. That was….touching, in a giant robot sort of way.

“I owe you like…fifty dollars.” Mike mumbled. Everyone paused in surprise.

What? How hard had Freddy hit Mike?

“What are you, what are you talkin’ bout son.” Freddy finally choked out roughly, sounding miserable and confused. he shook his head, fearing the fight had knocked the boy’s mind clear from a loop. “You don’t…”

“I swore, like, _so_ much tonight.” He explained with a tiny whisper, and then broke into a weak smile at his words, showing Freddy he was okay. That he wasn’t afraid of the bear. And he certainly wasn’t holding anything against him.

Upon the realization of the joke, shoulders slouched and relieved sighs were heard from all the bots. BB giggled, but it seemed a little strained. Bonnie and Foxy shook their heads, trying to look bothered by Mike’s lackadaisical attitude over this, but even Bonnie couldn’t keep the quiet appraisal and relief from his gaze.

Freddy just laughed, a little brokenly. He hoped Mike didn’t notice.

“Don’t worry about it, Michael. Give ya a, a free pass on this ‘un.” A paw passed over his forehead, wiping the sweat, grime and blood from the night guard’s forehead. Mike closed his eyes at the surprisingly tender gesture, and relaxed a little more into Freddy’s arms.

“…cool.” Was all he could manage now, feeling exhaustion sweep over him. “Thanks.” Without thinking, he curled a tad closer into the warm shelter of Freddy’s body and groaned a little. Freddy made another pass through his hair in evident sympathy, which was what Mike was going for.

_‘He should go back to the office.’_ Marion suggested, arms folded over the box as he watched Mike. He cocked his head at the little wave the night guard threw his way, though the motion obviously hurt.

“He should go to the _hospital_.” Chica corrected, even as they all headed for the ‘safe-zone’ of the pizzeria. Foxy and Bonnie got the doors to keep them out of Freddy’s way. Chica scooped up both Marion’s box and BB.

“Chica’s right.” Freddy muttered, mostly focused on carrying his precious cargo. “You need real medical attention, son. And fast.”

Mike hummed absently, his foggy aquamarine eyes slipping closed. He did care, he truly did. But he was so _tired_. He just wanted to rest, and the rocking motion of Freddy’s walk was only lulling him further to the brink of pain-free, healing sleep.                                                                                               

“Don’t be drifting on us now, matey.” Foxy called worriedly.

“M’not. Phone can’t…dial out anymore.” Mike mumbled. “Remember? Haveta use…my cell.” Though he couldn’t remember if it got a reception at all in this place.

Mike stayed in Freddy’s grip until the bear entered the office. Then he moved to the back, setting the human cautiously down onto the hand-me-down cot.

“Thanks, big guy.” Mike breathed, inching his spine down to the mattress.

His head was surprisingly void of any other noises, which was new. Mike was grateful, but the sheer silence between his own ears caused him to put some pieces of the puzzle together. His memories caught up with his brain and he winced.

“This isn’t over yet, gang.” Mike let his head fall to the right, staring at the menagerie crowded around him in a circle. He smiles a bit at the looming animatronics, knowing he was safe as long as they all stuck together. But keeping his eyes open was becoming a struggle he was swiftly loosing.

“Still need to…find…that bastard.” But then the world faded out, and Mike could fight unconsciousness no longer. He could just make out the sounds of friends, a little to hear Freddy’s deep voice right in front and the most frantic of all.

“Michael—!!”

The world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song 'Gasoline' by Halsey. We still got the grand finale to go—what do YOU thinks gonna happen?


	10. Dead Bear Walking

_“Okay, alright, we’re gonna take the world tonight_  
_it feels, so right_  
 _by morning light, I’m gonna have the world”_  
**10\. Dead Bear Walking**

‘Fucking hell…I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.’

 _‘That would be unwise, Night Guard.’_ Came that whisper-breath tone, somewhere between genders and completely unique to its owner.

 _‘_ Mari? Oh…hey.’ Mike thought, or spoke, or something, tiredly. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he was doing this. But upon finally dragging his foggy blue eyes open, he discovered he was floating in blackness.

‘Well this is comforting.’ He thought sarcastically, or perhaps said. Or was it both?

 _‘You are fine._ ’ The puppet’s voice assured, finally coming into his vision. He was vaguely see-through.

And he definitely _wasn’t_ the Marionette.

‘Wha?’ Mike’s mind wasn’t having the best time staying on the upkeep. Probably from the pile drive Freddy had given him.

‘You’re not…the Marionette.’ But as he said this, he immediately felt ridiculous. Who else could it be? And that voice was unmistakable.

But the child’s somber face gazed at him from where it floated. Strings hung loosely from the boy’s wrists and ankles. They were limp but had not dangling, they gently slopped back into the blackness, shifting and catching the light of his soft blue aura with every move the child made. He tilted his head at Mike, and observed him cautiously. The eyes were a burnt umber with a depth of hazel flecks and horribly, horribly _old_. A child’s eyes should never look that aged. It was like looking at a very old man in a toddler’s body. When the Marionette’s voice faded in, the child’s small mouth remained still.

_‘I can’t lie to your mind’s eye, Night Guard. I am who he was in life. And he is me. I took this boy’s soul in an attempt to shelter him from the cruelties of his wounds. I tried to fix him.’_

‘Tried?’ And, shit, Mari sounded so damn depressed. He wasn’t used to the gloomy visage. It was worse because now the puppet’s face was a small boy’s. And he looked as miserable as Mari sounded. It took Mike a moment, but he noticed the tear tracks, dried down the boy’s pale little cheeks.

 _‘The road to Hell, dear Night Guard.’_ Marionette explained, the small boy shaking his head. ‘ _Is paved with good intentions.’_

‘Marion…I’m sorry.’ When the child only turned to stare at him in abject confusion, Mike went on softly. ‘Whatever you—or he—went through. I’m sorry. What happened to cause…this though?’

_‘I am one of the oldest animatronics. Older than even Freddy, certainly ages older than the others. You knew this, correct?’_

“I…had my suspicions. You don’t look anything like the others.’

Marionette nodded. Or rather, the small child did. _‘Back then, I didn’t need to. I belonged to Fredbear’s Diner. I ran the Prize Counter. I can recall every gift I’ve given to a child, but few stick out as much as Arthur’s prize. A small Fredbear doll, one of the first models of stuffed toys. If I recall, he worked very hard for it”_ A tiny, almost miniscule smile flitted across the ghost boy’s face before vanishing. ‘ _He wasn’t fond of the pizzeria and the animatronics, but he liked Fredbear.’_

‘And Arthur…what happened to him? He wasn’t…murdered, was he?’

_‘No. Well. Not on purpose.’ _

Mike’s stomach dropped out.

The small boy shook his head, as if to deny the thoughts. _‘It was an accident, a trick—‘_ And then, without warning, a new type of venom laced the puppet’s tone. _‘And a small child paid for it with his life, all because of that, that ROTTEN, STUPID, D-DUMB, MEAN—‘_ The puppet’s voice had changed, growing younger as it broke. The tone finally picking a side and sounding so angry and desperate as the boy began to rant from his own mouth. Energy crackled around the boy’s eyes and hands, little pudgy fists clenched horribly tight. Mike yelped a little, and this seemed to draw the child to his senses. The horrible, deadly light faded from his big eyes.

A familiar puppet’s hand came from the shadows behind the boy, placed it gently over his mouth. Tears streamed down the broken hearted boy’s face as he stopped screaming, and Mike felt a pang of sympathy. Marion’s other hand, which came out of the darkness the same way, brushed through the child’s shaggy hair soothingly.

Well, at least now Mike could see where the silver strings connected to. He swallowed with a dry throat, and took his eyes pointedly off the physical connection from the child’s little wrist to the Marionette’s. It made him queasy.

_‘We had only wanted to save him, you understand. We didn’t think it would go this far.’_

‘He’s…angry.’ Mike realized numbly, remembering how quickly the boy had taken over their ‘shared’ voice at the explanation of his death.

_‘Wouldn’t you be, Night Guard? Murdered accidentally—and by your own brother. Killed by the robots you feared so much.’_

‘Of I course I would be.’ Mike murmured, now looking down at who he could only assume as Arthur. Big watery eyes met his, and the child hiccupped behind the puppet’s hand, his anger ebbing. The robot’s hand withdrew, giving one final stroke to soothe any frazzled edges.

 _‘Ghosts are made of emotions. And a child has such strong emotions. The more strength of these emotions from my child in particular, the more power I have. I tried getting him to move on, but—‘_ As if on cue, the silent, still sobbing child turned and burrowed against the darkness surrounding them. Mike now knew what exactly this blackness was, and why the child was so attached.

He was a lost little kid, and Mari was a rock in a storm for him. It made sense. Horrible, wretched, terrifying sense.

‘He’s just a kid, Mari. I bet he’s scared to move on all by himself.’ Mike reasoned with the puppet, trying to make it understand. Arthur shot him a quick peek over his shoulder, sniffing once, but said nothing. He nodded though, but when Mike smiled down at him the child hid his face again. Stripped arms held the little specter’s back and rubbed absently.

_‘You know of the murders that plagued this place, haven’t you?’_

Mike blinked at the sudden change of topic, but knew it was best to go along with it.

“Uh, sure.” He said after a moment. “It was a big urban legend when I was a kid. There was that guy who lost his face too, the day guard.’ Mike paused, wincing at the similarities in title.

_‘Incorrect.’_

‘What?’

 _‘Fritz was a Night Guard. He had been moved to the day position. This was after Fredbear’s closed, mind you.’ _Marion noticed Mike’s sudden unease, but went on anyway. _‘But the old location…it was bad. All of us were jumpy that day. Arthur especially, as you can imagine.’_ Giving what Mike knew now about Marion’s strange powers, the young man nodded at the implication.

‘ _We had no way of knowing who the monster was that preyed on our children, but we tried to find them. Looking back, I think we could have taken things more…delicately.’_

‘Uh, yeah. Probably.’

 _‘But children are not delicate, especially in their anger. I reacted, letting Arthur’s emotions get the best of me. Fritz never stood a chance, and the Mangle would have obeyed Arthur even if I wasn’t there.’_ Arthur shot an ashamed look at the ground, lips set into a thin line.

_‘The man suffered the same attack Arthur had, just with a different instrument. But the adult lived, the toys were decommissioned, and I was packed up into my box with BalloonBoy and sent to the basement. It felt rather like a banishment.”_

‘And…Arthur.’ Mike winced, thinking of a kid, ghost or not, stuck into that dank basement and trapped there. Despite any discomfort it was clear the little guy wasn’t about to just up and leave Marionette, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be terrified of the place.

And those strings were awfully short. Arthur couldn’t have left if he wanted to.

 _‘Yes. And Arthur.’_ Marionette said solemnly.

‘ _Scott was very disappointed in us all. I came to him seeking to apologize and discovered he had begun looking into the murders himself. When he decided it wasn’t one of US who hurt a child, he moved on to the next likely suspects. The human workers there. ‘_

‘And…?’ Mike prompted slowly. ‘Did he ever... _find_ anything?’

_‘Unfortunately, he did. On the night of his death, he was promised to come down and talk to me. He took the information to his grave.’_

Mike looked to Arthur, who was a well of emotion. Even if the Marionette and he didn’t agree on something, you could pick up what Arthur was thinking as if he were shouting it from the rooftops. He was as silent kid, but had an emotional face, and Mike wondered if that was by design.

The little kid looked terrified for some reason, and was staring up at the shadows holding him. Now, Mike knew why Foxy called Mari the ‘Black Devil.’ It’s what he _looked_ like, in this form.

_‘I had been in the midst of starting a connection with Scott. I thought perhaps, if I could protect Arthur I could do the same for him, even if he was an adult. And alive. I did try, you know. But I was too late.’_

‘He must have been onto something big, some secret someone didn’t want him to tell.’

_‘Arthur had nothing to do with the murder, Night Guard. He wasn’t, and still isn’t, capable of solidifying anymore.’_

‘Huh? Oh, no. I didn’t think it was him.’ Even if he was responsible for attacking at least one adult, Mike had a feeling this was only part of the puzzle.

‘Scott died…on the fifth night, right?’

_‘Yes. He was stuffed into the oldest suit we have. The one least likely to be checked.’_

“And this was MY fifth night. Jesus,” Mike closed his eyes at the realization of how close he’d come to an untimely death—now it was Super Dark as opposed to Very Dark—and tried to breathe through his nose. Kind of hard to do in his own headspace, but he made it work. Finally he opened his eyes, fixing on the point above Arthur’s head where he could only assume the Marionette was looming.

‘One night…one night you said something. You said you had to let those other guards die. Mari— _why_? Why did they have to die? All they did was take a job!’ He cried out, and Arthur winced, suddenly looking very guilty. It didn’t make sense to Mike. Not until Mari’s next words.

‘ _I told you already. Emotion. And business.’_

Mike swallowed, shaking his head. ‘I don’t…understand.’

‘ _You don’t want to. Think harder.’_

Mike tried to work backwards with what he knew.

‘All that blood spilled…all those guards being killed senselessly by the malfunctioning robots. And in the spare parts room. Right..Right above the _basement_ —you, you were trying to wake up Arthur, weren’t you?’ He demanded suddenly, feeling lightheaded.

_‘Stopping the robots would have only yielded results for as long as it took for them to be reprogrammed again, by whoever was doing it. I would have wasted power for nothing. Arthur and I know the children’s murderer is long gone, but some darkness still lurks here. Something still darkens every corner, and the sooner I got back to full power, the sooner I could look for a new human.’_

‘Me, right? I’m like Scott.’ A role to fill. To play a part. Mike knew it was coming, and he still felt a little used by the information.

Arthur looked up, and Mike had the distinct feeling of Marionette looking down at the same time, one to the other. After their shared silence and glance at each other, Arthur shook his head. Marionette answered. It was like they were one being, impossible of being taken from the other.

_‘No, Night Guard. You are nothing like Scott. Where he failed… you succeeded.’ _

‘Tell that to my broken body.’ Mike moaned, holding a hand over his eyes and tipping his head back. Arthur looked a little amused, and there was the distinct feeling of the darkness rolling it’s eyes in fond exasperation.

 _‘Always with the dramatics. You are as bad as Fazbear._ ’ The puppet’s hand stroked Arthur’s hair once more on instinct, before turning its attention back to the night guard.

_‘Now please. I need one more favor from you.’_

‘…I think I know what you’re going to ask.’ Mike said slowly, trying not to look scared.

_‘The animatronics are loyal to you now, you have their trust. Find what Scott was looking for, and rid the restaurant once and for all of this vile, traitorous enemy.’_

‘And you say I’M the dramatic one.’ But he nodded seriously, meeting Arthur’s eyes since he had nowhere else to look. ‘I’ll do my best, Mari. And you too, Art.’

Arthur smiled gently, before turning and taking hold of one of the string connecting him to Marionette, and tugging pointedly. Again, the darkness looked down at the boy.

_‘Oh, of course. And one more thing.’_

Mike blinked, but nodded. ‘Yeah?’

That familiar sucking sound began, like the entire world was sucking in a deep breath.

_‘Remember to smile. You are the face of Freddy Fazebear’s Pizzeria—‘_

And then the world is bathed in a golden light that quickly becomes too harsh to see by, and too strong to stay conscious for. Warmth washes over Mike like a tidal wave, he barely registers Arthur’s small hand waving good bye, or the withdrawing fingers of Mari’s midnight black presence—

And then it’s just _too bright_ , and Mike knows nothing at all but the pounding of his own heartbeat—

And even that was fading into the distance.

* * *

Mike had hoped to wake up with as little discomfort as possible.

To his utter and sheer surprise, he had _no pain at all._

Mike sat up gingerly, as if this were some trick. Alright, to be fair…his muscles did ache. His arm stung, but a close inspection of the previously gouged limb yielded nothing but pure, smooth flesh. It was like the attack hadn’t even happened at all!

He felt faint dregs of pain up his spine and shoulders, pulses of almost phantom pain as he twisted and stretched.

‘ _What on earth…?’_ and he can tell, by the silence between his two ears, that his mind is his own again. No Marionette, no ghost children stuck at six but probably several years older than him.

“Lad! Good to see ya movin’ boy.”

“You’re awake, oh thank goodness—“

“Give him some room, guys!”

Foxy, Chica and Bonnie in that order. Mike looked up at them and sheepishly smiled, quickly scanning the room for Freddy.

Because maybe if he WAS whole then this whole thing had been a _dream_ and he was still stuck at square one—

“Ya’alright there, son?” There’s no mistaking the warm, worried tone from the old bear, who’s standing at the back.

“I…yeah.” He ducks his slack jawed gaze from the bear, hardly daring to believe the concern Freddy’s showing him is real. But it is. “I feel, really good, in fact.” He says, not bothering to keep the amazement from his voice. Freddy looks satisfied,

These aches were nothing compared to before he had passed out. “Where’s Marionette?” He asked, vaguely noticing BB had been perched at the end of his cot.

“Sleeping in his box.” Freddy informed with a nod to the quiet present box on the desk, its lid firmly on. ‘Took quite a bit of battery life ta heal ya up.”

“You mean—Mari did, did all this?” He rolled his arm and winced when it cracked. Okay, a little stiffness. Nothing some ibuprofen couldn’t cure, or perhaps a hot soak in the tub. He could pretend the aches were from his soccer days, and not war wounds from battling homicidal animatronics last night.

“Aye, lad. The devil’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve—I bet yer grateful for that.” Foxy joked, gently poking him with the flat side of his hook. Mike grinned at the gesture and gave a half hearted shove back, still playful as ever with the pirate fox.

“You bet. I owe him big time.” Mike agreed, now trying to see if he could stand without excruciating pain.

“Caaareful, there.” Bonnie warned, steadying him with a purple paw. “What, you think cause Mari patched you up you’re ready for a 5k? Take a breather, Mikey.”

“It’s almost six, Bon. I’d love to, but can’t.” Mike did lean against the rabbit’s hold though, inwardly relieved for it. His body adjusted, it really did feel like weeks had passed for his wounds.

“Ya really should rest, matey.” Foxy commented quietly, sounding worried. At the same time, he knew once Mike set his mind to it.

“What? Why not? You fixed us!” Chica reminded, as much of a mother hen as they’d ever seen her.

“ _Because_. Whoever was the one who stuck those chips in you—they’re still out there. More importantly, I bet they think Freddy got me.”

“I reckon.” The bear agreed, looking troubled at the mere thought. Mike shot him a reassuring smile, and walked over to lean on the desk. He was next to Mari’s box but also just so happened to be near Freddy, showing him he wasn’t afraid of the bear anymore.

“So we need to play on that confidence.” Mike went on with a nod.

“Alright. Uh, and that would be…how?” Bonnie asked, cocking his head.

_‘By making them think they won.’_

Everyone in the room jumped when the box next to Mike suddenly opened. A very weary Marionette—eyes dim, body sagging, and arms flopped over the lip of the box—lifted out of its home.

“Uh—exactly! Mari, maybe you should rest.” Mike said.

 _‘Not until this is settled. Or at least underway.’_ The puppet animatronic declined, making a yawning noise and holding a hand over its ‘mouth.’ Mike shrugged, and relented.

“So we have to make it look like yer dead, lad?” Foxy asked, hook tapping against his jaw like it did when he was deep in thought.

“Mhm.” Mike folded his arms. “Minus the actual… _killing_ of me, of course.” The pain was still real enough, and he wouldn’t forget what it felt like to fly through the air from a blow from a robotic fist.

“Well, _that_ goes without saying.” Bonnie snorted, giving him a look and leaning in the west end door.

Mike shot the rabbit a dark look, but made a ‘come hither motion’ with his hands, waving the robots into a tight circle. It felt like a team of football players crowding around for the final play off.

In some ways, that’s exactly what it was.

“Okay, so here’s how we’ll do it…”

* * *

“Are ye sure this is gonna work, lad?”

“It doesn’t need to work forever, just enough to buy me some time.” Mike answered Foxy, screwing a new chip into the back of Freddy’s skull. “Hand me that, that nail there Captain. We need to make this look like the same job the guy who fu---screwed with Freddy did. Okay over there, big guy?” He addressed that last part to Freddy.

“Just fine, son.” Freddy answered, standing obediently still. “Hardly feel it at all.”

“Good.” After a few more moments of fiddling, Mike leaned back and shut the plate in the back of Fazbear’s head. “Now, let’s see if this works. Can you do that spooky eye thing again?”

“This one?” Black eyes with white pinpricks were aimed at him.

Mike gave an uneasy smile, and Freddy quickly blinked the effect away. “Perfect. I know I’m asking a lot, but if you can keep the jerk convinced you’re still under his control—“

“No, no I get it son. I trust yah. Leave it to me.”

This time Mike’s smile was earnest, and he saluted the old bear cheerfully.

“Uh, hey. Is jerk considered a swear word?” Mike asked delicately. “Cause I really can’t afford to shell out any more cash.”

“For _that_ human?” Freddy snorted. “Feel free to call him whatever ya like.” Freddy grumbled, and Mike beamed.

“Okay guys, see you tonight.” He said to Bonnie and Chica, who were just now getting on stage after they had helped Marionette with something.

“Good night, Mikey.” Said Chica,

“See ya, bub.” Said Bonnie, adjusting his guitar strap.

Despite the situation, the bear gave a little chuckle as Mike hopped off stage, Foxy on his heels.

It was just in time too, because the clock struck six. And the three robots were locked into place.

* * *

“Them creepy bots got another one, huh?”

“Yeah. Heard from the boss this morning. Can’t find this one though.”

“Think he’s in the basement?”

“Nahh. Them bots musta stuck him in Parts and Services again.”

“Can’t find the stains.”

“Yep. You know what that means.”

“Ah-yeah?”

”Don’t gotta clean up in there!” And the two cleaners broke into a chorus of snide laughing, each pleased with the extra time they now had for a smoke.

“No body, no crime!” Said the one with the rough voice.

“Think we oughta sweep out the fox’s place?” This one was younger, and had a lot to learn about being a clean-up crew for this ‘fine establishment.’

“Eh? What have you been smoking? Ain’t asked to do it, don’t do it. Besides, that broken down robot gives me the willies, yanno?” The man paused to cough, years of chewing tobacco had left their mark. “Always staring, an’ that broken jaw. The hook? Bah. No good can come from that broken down dog.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good point.”

“Hey, you catch the game last night?”

“I sure did. And if you think yer getting yer twenty bucks you can kiss my ass boy…”

The voices trailed off, passing Pirate’s Cove before their footsteps faded long after their conversation.

Standing posed in the gloom, Foxy suddenly rolled his glass optics and grumbled under his breath.

“Mikey! Ya be see’in this injustice I haveta suffer through? I _clearly_ be a fox! Burns me britches it does—”

“Hey, leave me out of this.” Mike hissed from under the tarp. “I’m dead, remember?”

Foxy snorted, but turned his head back to stare at the wall, like he was frozen in place. He stood in silence, planted between the tarp of broken wood from his ship, and the curtain.

“The black devil have the suit ready fer ye?” Foxy finally asked, but he made a show of speaking as low as his voice box could manage. There was a shift of the plastic sheeting he was hiding under.

“Yeah. He said I wouldn’t be able to miss it. All I have to do is wait until the place closes, then go hide in it and _we_ wait for our mystery programmer to show up. The guy’s gonna wanna make sure Freddy followed his directive.”

“And then?”

“We keep him contained until I can get the police here.” Mike informed, settling into a more comfortable position. “Now, shush, Foxy. I’m alright. You don’t need to keep checking up on me.” Came a wry hum.

“I wasn’t…” An electronic sigh, knowing it was useless. “Aye, ya caught me red hooked, boy.”

There was a soft noise of amusement from Mike’s hiding place. They shared a comfortable silence and then,

“Thanks for worrying about me, Captain.” He whispered up, speaking under the growing din of the pizzeria’s daily noise. “It’s good to know ya got my back.”

“O’course, lad.” Foxy took a moment and then. “Now keep yer trap shut. Yer supposed to be dead.”

Mike grinned and quickly stifled his laugh.

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s song was ‘Take the World’ by Evan Olson. NOTICE: The following chapter will be a 'special chapter' completely out of the plot of this current story. This story was completed during October, and chapter 11 was released on Halloween as a special filler chapter. Just a warning!


	11. Halloween Special: Behind the Mask

_“Good morning and good night_   
_I wake up at twilight_   
_It's gonna be alright…”  
_ **X. Halloween Special: Behind the Mask**

It was a chilly, brisk night in late October, and Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was closing up for the night.

The last of the clean-up crew headed out, single file. They spoke to one another, giving only moderately worried glances up on stage. No one stayed behind, which was nothing new. The doors were closed, and locked.

They would not be touched again until the Head Guard arrived for his night shift. In the meantime, though, blue eyes tracked the progression of humans and when the last car was heard leaving the parking lot, something happened.

Freddy Fazbear, the titular star of the pizzeria franchise, blinked once. Twice. He turned his head toward the door, ears lifting a bit as he lowered his arms from his stage pose.

“Quittin time!” He said cheerfully, aware of his friends flanking his left and right were now moving in similar fashions. Bonnie released his guitar and set it lovingly on its stand while Chica stretched and yawned her beak.

“Oh!” She grabbed her bottom jaw quickly and held it in place when it tried to swing off. “This isn’t good—I knew it was loose!”

“So have Mikey look at it, he’ll be in soon.” Bonnie shrugged, not seeing the big deal. Now of course, it was _his_ guitar, then that would be a different story.

“I better.” Chica agreed. “I can’t cook with only one hand.”

Right on time, they heard the deadbolt being fiddled with. The door was pushed open, and the gangly night guard strolled in, tablet and cap tucked under his arm.

“Evenin’ gang.” He called, pausing only once to relock the door before walking toward the stage.

“Hello, Michael.” Freddy nodded pleasantly, while Bonnie gave a little wave and said something about finding Foxy.

“Mike, do you think you could take a look at my mouth?” Chica asked right away, stepping off the stage toward their friend.

“Eh? Oh, sure thing Chica. Just let me drop off my stuff and meet me in Parts and Services, okay?”

“Got it!” She chirped cheerfully, and headed on her way.

“So, are you excited Freddy?” Mike asked as he headed for his office. He struck up a conversation simply because he could hear Freddy wandering after him. He wasn’t surprised, the old bear liked to be around whenever he did maintenance on the others.

“Excited for what, son?” Freddy asked politely.

“Halloween, of course! It’s in four days, don’t tell me you forgot big guy.”

“Ah, yes. Halloween.” Freddy looked a little uncomfortable. Mike pitched him a look over his shoulder. “Why the long face, Fredbear? You were excited for it a month ago when they started making your costumes.”

It was a pretty cool idea, really. In an attempt to pull in more cash, the Fazbear gang would celebrate Halloween for three days, with the final day falling on Halloween itself. Though the pizzeria would close its normal hours, kids who wore their costumes on any of the days got free tokens, and on Halloween the bots would walk around giving out candy. Ever since they had been taken off their free roam, Corporate had been concocting this plan.

“I, I still am!” Freddy assured, but a little too energetically. “It’s just…the puppet ain’t—it doesn’t—“

Mike was too busy looking at Freddy to see where he was going. Besides, he could walk this joint blindfolded, and he wasn’t used to the doors being closed anymore.

So when he walked chest first into his closed office door, the young man was, understandably, more than a little confused.

“Ow! Jiminy _Christmas_ —” Mike clutched his shoulder and rubbed the wounded limb. He twisted to glare through the window.

“BB!! Is that you!?” He cupped a hand to try and see into the darkened room. “I need my tools, BB. Open this door right now mister!”

“Ya’alright, son?” Freddy drawled in that easy going manner of his, stepping back to give the night guard room.

“Yeah—ugh. Why do we even have these doors anymore! I swear, he thinks he’s cute. When I get my hands on that little—“

“Hello?” Came a confused voice.

Mike and Freddy twisted as one to see BalloonBoy moving slowly down the hall, a few last balloons he hadn’t given away swinging in the light.

“Wait. BB, you’re…out there? Then whose…” Mike pointed to the shut door. “In _there_?”

“Dunno.” Freddy said, sounding a little concerned. “Ain’t no one in there—hold yer horses lad, I see that look in yer eyes.”

“What look? I wasn’t—“ Mike huffed, but relaxed. His eyes went back to blue, and Freddy nodded in satisfaction.

“No need to be letting _him_ out. I’ll go and see if the west end’s shut.” Freddy clapped a paw onto Mike’s shoulder in a gentle pat. “We’ll get to the bottom o’ this.”

“Kay, Freddy.” Mike watched the bear go, then turned to BB as he waddled up.

“Hi?”

“You know who’s in there?” Mike asked, arms folded over his chest.

The little balloon bot shook its head, looking confused.

“Well…don’t worry. I’m sure Freddy will figure it ouuuut?” Mike dragged the last word in confusion as he heard something behind the door. Without warning, the lock disengaged and the sheet of steel shot up.

Something white and flapping came flying out at him. Mike, like any human who had spent the better part of the year living in sheer terror, understandably _screamed_ at the top of his lungs and flung himself back on instinct. His spine smashed into the wall, BB scrambled onto him for—what, protection? Mike couldn’t even protect himself!—and it took them both a second to realize they were screaming at a reversed table cloth with two black dots for eyes.

And another second to register Bonnie and Foxy’s roaring laughter.

“Bonnie! Foxy!” Mike yelped, kicking the ghost-come-blanket off his legs and trying to get to his feet. This only served to tangle him more, which in turn made Foxy and Bonnie howl even harder, clutching at each other.

“What in blazes is going on in here!?” That was Freddy, who blustered in looking mildly panicked, considering all he had heard was Mike’s scream of fear once he had left his side.

Freddy didn’t receive his answer though, mostly because there was a horrific crack from the present box. Instead of sitting in its usual spot on the left side of his desk, it was sitting on the little cot that was in Mike’s office.

Bonnie’s and Foxy’s laughter died in their throats as the entire room darkened, and the present box shook, its side sucking inward. Which…wasn’t so much scary to Mike as it was confusing as all get out. But the chilly wind that swept over them from the present box was a different story.

“Eh?” said Mike, letting Freddy pull him to his feet with one giant paw. He shivered at the creepy chill and moved a little closer to the towering bear for warmth. A second gust of strange wind whuffed a second time, dropping the room by ten degrees at least.

“What—holy shit!”

Now THIS cry of surprise was because the Marionette was rising out of its present box like a goddamn horror movie, porcelain painted face the picture of pure rage. It stretched impossibly long arms toward the two robots, eyes narrowed in something close to hatred. The animatronics yelped and flinched back, ears flat and stumbling to avoid the puppet who was suddenly on the warpath. Without thinking, Mike jumped between the three, Bonnie and Foxy safely behind him. It was on instinct, because something in his gut told him things would be Very Bad if Marionette got a hold of the two pranksters.

“H-hey take it easy!” the night guard called, holding his hands up placatingly as the puppet tried to weave its stretching arms around the human to get at the bots. “What’s gotten into you, it was just a little joke—“ But he was being ignored, and that actually sort of bothered the normally easy going guy. Something warm like molten lava bubbled in his chest and, for a brief instant; he let the _Other_ _One_ speak through him.

“ _Knock it off!”_ The echoing voice that sounded like Freddy’s (minus the accent) seemed to snap the Marionette out of its anger. The arms halted and hovered there, five feet long and pointed fingers curling in hesitance. They clutched at nothing, those pin prick white eyes flicking down to the human standing defiantly before it. Mike winced—he always had a raw, irony taste in the back of his mouth after _He_ spoke, but he let it go. His main concern right now was getting Mari down from whatever anger high he was experiencing.

“…Mari?” Mike asked softly, voice normal once more. His eyebrows bunched worriedly and he wandered closer, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder at the cowering animatronics.

“…what was that about? C’mon, it wasn’t a big deal! Ya didn’t have to go all poltergeist on their butts.” He tried, going for levity. Marionette’s eyes narrowed behind its mask. As soon as Mike got within reaching distance of the puppet, it had grabbed its box and jammed the top of its home back on tightly. Marionette was quiet usually, and this spoke volumes. ‘Leave me alone.’

Silence reigned.

After a beat, Mike swallowed and turned to the remaining robots.

“…So, anyone know what _that_ was about? I mean—I get he was just trying to protect me but—from you two nuts?” Mike glanced accusingly at the pranksters, who had the decency to look sheepish. Everyone animatronic shared a look with one another, leaving Mike feeling very out of the loop.

“…best let me explain, son.” Mike looked up as Freddy clapped a hand on his skinny shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go…somewhere else.” He grabbed the night guard’s red toolbox and made sure Mike saw, giving him a clue where they were headed.

“Uh, sure Freddy.” Mike followed willingly, but not without a worried backward glance at the present box.

Somehow it looked like it was sulking.

Mike found himself in Parts and Services, which wasn’t unusual. He stood by the table in the middle, working on Chica’s jaw as Freddy leaned in a corner with his arms folded over his metal chest. This also wasn’t unusual. In fact, if Mike tried only a little bit, he could imagine things were as they usually were, on this strange night in late October. He sighed a little, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

“Alright. Bon and Foxy pull crap all the time. Just last week all my pencils had the tips broken, and my pencil sharpener was unplugged.” He frowned, mid pause in picking a screwdriver best suited for Chica’s mouth. “What made this so different?”

“Ya, but never in front of the Marionette.”

“They did it in front of Mari? Idiots,” That was Chica, her mouth wasn’t moving but her voice box echoed from the back of her throat. Mike smiled at her exasperated grunt and began screwing a bolt back into place.

“I reckon it was cause it’s almost Halloween.” Said Freddy, more to Chica than Mike now.

“Those two can get carried away.” Chica agreed.

“Mhm. They just didn’t think about it.”

“Do they ever?” Mike laughed a little at the hopelessness of his friends, “Hey, hold this side of your teeth for me, thanks girl.”

“So Mari doesn’t like pranks, no big deal. But he knows none of you would ever hurt me.” Mike noticed the silence a moment later. “He does know that, right?”

“It’s not so much Mari as it is, his…Erh, you know.” Fazbear tried to word it delicately, but it was obvious he was choosing to be at a sudden loss for words.

“Arthur?” Mike politely ignored the way everyone flinched when he said the kid’s name.

It was still surreal, knowing he was the only one who called the Marionette’s ghost kid by name. The others were too afraid, even Freddy avoided it. In hindsight though, if you were up against a slightly unstable bundle of ghostly powers that could singlehandedly power the Marionette’s suspicious abilities, the robots had every right to be a _little_ afraid of Arthur. Mike mulled it over quietly to himself, and chalked up his lack of fear with the fact he hadn’t been that afraid of Mari to begin with. And he had only seen Arthur angry once. Which he never wanted to see again, but at the same time it hadn’t been directed at him.

Mike frowned, suddenly realizing something about this whole affair.

“It’s not Mari. _Arthur_ doesn’t like pranks.” Mike murmured softly, looking at Freddy for his answer. The bear’s expression said enough.

“So, Arthur got the best of Mari, which made him go all Haunted Mansion on our butts—what was he going to do if he actually got a hold of them?” Mike wanted to know.

“Probably shut them down for a few days.” Freddy shrugs, “Arguably harmless. But it’s, that’s never a sensation any of us like son, no matter how harmless it is.”

Mike nodded. It was like if he was knocked unconscious for a few days. At the end of it all, he’d most likely be just fine, but it would still be scary.

He finished the final touches on Chica’s jaw and got out of her way so she could sit up and see for herself.

“I can’t believe those two!” She complained as soon as her mouth worked in sync with her words. “They could use a lesson in maturity, you know.” She said, voice clipped. Then she noticed Mike’s growing grin.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” Chica sounded amused. “You have a plan, mister.”

“Whaddya say we give those two a dose of their own medicine, eh?” Mike asked. Noting Freddy’s look, he quickly went on “Don’t worry big guy, you can stay out of it if you want. BB too, he’s too young for this. But I think me, Chica and Mari can kill two birds with one stone here.”

“How d’ya figure?’ Freddy asks, tone light and but warning.

“Easy. It’s a lot better to _be_ the scareer than to be scared. Hasn’t anyone ever tried to talk to Arthur about that?” Mike stretched a little, thinking up at the ceiling. “And with Mari’s powers, he could get some serious pranking done.”

“Michael…”

“It’ll all be harmless don’t worry. And if Arthur doesn’t wanna do it, I won’t.” He crossed his finger over his chest. “Cross my heart and—well, I already died once, so I better think of another way to promise stuff I guess.” Freddy didn’t seem convinced, but he did drop the subject. So Mike that took that as an ok, and turned toward the chicken animatronic.

“What do you say, Chica?”

“Count me in—what should we do?” She was far more willing to stoop to the boy’s level despite her earlier words on their maturity.

“Let’s wait to see if we can get Mari and his kid in on it. Gimme a minute, yeah?” Mike paused to wipe his hands on his jeans. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen with them if I get the okay.” He said.

“That boy is crazier than a bowl of mice.” Freddy shook his head fondly, once Mike had trotted out.

“Yeah, but he’s ours.’ Chica giggled before she left.

Freddy smiled, and watched her leave. Couldn’t argue with her there.

* * *

Mike quickly headed back for his office. He was delighted to see it was void of any animatronic expect the still silent present box. Closing both doors to ensure some privacy, Mike walked over and sat on the little cot beside the box.

“…knock knock.” He said, rapping his knuckles lightly on the side.

Nothing.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.” Mike reminded, then waited. The bow shifted as the lid lifted a few inches. Black fingers curled over the lip, and Mike could see that white face with those black eyes. They stared impassively at the young man.

 _“It is not you I am mad at.’ _Marionette snapped haughtily in that odd feathery pitch. Mike’s grin widened. Good old Mari.

“I don’t even think it’s _you_ who’s _mad_.” Said Mike in response. He was just letting his friend know that, on some level, Mike understood.

Something able to influence your mindset and actions without your direct influence? Your body being hijacked for someone else’s gain? Even if it wasn’t for anything terribly bad, it was still unsettling. Yeah, Mike got that.

“Let me talk to him. Trust me, okay Marion?”

 _‘Night Guard…’_ But Mike shook his head before Mari could talk him out of what he was about to do. Talking was harmless.

“Freddy told me, Arthur.” He started speaking to the ghost child without warning. Switching gears like that didn’t seem to bother the Marionette. “Arthur? You in there, buddy?” The Marion had gone very still and quiet.

“How you don’t like pranks? They leave you and Mari alone, but then they got me, and…” The room was getting cold.

 _‘I Was sCared for You.’_ Came the bumpy, lilting voice of a young boy.

Mike smiled at the glum little voice. Even when he was happy—or close to it—Arthur’s ghostly voice constantly sounded depressed. It was a little cute, if worrisome.

“Thanks, Artie. I’m glad I’ve got you to look out for me, yeah?” And Mike meant it. He watched as Marionette crept out of its box even more, but it was obvious it was Arthur edging out to really look at him.

The Marionette nodded, black fingers absently fiddling with the frayed bow of the present box.

 _“WereN’T yOu scAreD?”_ Arthur finally asks, a question that seemed a long time coming.

“Sure.” Mike shrugged, he’s not going to fake bravery when he rarely had any. “But then I was thinking of all the ways I could spook them back. You know, even the score? Something harmless to let them know I’M capable of pranking them.”

 _“EvEN the ScOre?”_ And for the first time, Mike hears interest piquing the boy’s voice.

He smiles. There we go.

“Yeah! You see, it’s a lot more fun to trick someone yourself. You don’t even have to scare them.”

_“YOu doN’t?”_

“Nah. You could confuse them, make them scratch their heads over your prank.”

_“Th…ThAt’s nOt what…my BRoTHeR did. H-his were scary—his were…were m- **mean**.” _

“There’s more to jokes than being mean. Jokes are meant to make you laugh—everyone laugh, Art.” Mike quickly fished for an example, “Like, what if we put pink paint in a seat, and Bonnie sat down. Then, when he stood up, he’d have a big pink butt and pink cotton tail.”

Mike grins at the little specter’s sudden giggle.

The Marionette—or, Arthur rather—looked surprised at the noise. The overhead lights flickered once, but Mike knew it wasn’t faulty bulbs. His own smile widened, encouraging the noise.

 _“…Y-you’re going to prank them, Mikey?”_ Funny how stable the little guy sounded after a laugh, no matter how small.

“Yep. Gotta even the score.” Mike stood, signaling he was going to leave the two alone. He counted in his head. One, two…

“You wouldn’t…wanna help me out, would ya? Chica’s gonna help us too.”

 _“…okay.”_ the soft voice faded. _“I’ll help.”_

“Sweet. C’mon, you two.” Mike walked over to the rather dazed looking Marionette and gently picked up the box. Mari let itself be carried out of the office and down the hall.

* * *

 

“Ya think we oughta apologize?”

“To who, Mike? Oh— _him_? Uh. You first, bub.”

“Belay that! It was _your_ idea!” growled the fox as he stomped around the corner of the west hall.

“Well you were the one wearing the sheet!” Bonnie accused, as if this put all the blame on Foxy.

“That’s because your ears made ya look ridiculous, rabbit.” Foxy reminded sharply, shoving his hook at the rabbit’s face.

“Oh yeah? Well has anyone ever told you—“ Bonnie paused then, the aforementioned ears swiveling this way and that.

“Hey, you hear that?

“I dun’ hear nothing.”

“Exactly. It’s quiet. Too quiet for this place.”

“It be nighttime, Bon.” Foxy reminded, but he too suddenly felt a bit of unease.

“No, I mean—“

_“Guuyss!”_

“That sounded like Mike!” Bonnie jumped a mile at the sudden noise. How long had he been calling?!

_“Guys—I need some help!”_

“Aye, he sounds scared.” Foxy’s tail switched in worry.

“He sounds like he’s coming from Parts and Services, c’mon!” Without thinking, the two robots headed for the back room, Foxy in the lead. But his speed became a liability the second he tried to go through the doorway of the back room. Something sprang to life, filmy and sticky, and caused the startled fox to rebound and fall back into an equally confused rabbit. The sheer plastic went with him.

“Foxy—gerrof!” Bonnie tried, tripping backwards.

“What in Jones’ locker IS stuff!” Foxy roared, swinging his hook around get rid of their see-through attacker.

But cellophane cared little for the sharp hook.

Their struggles caused them to step back, where someone had left a toolbox lying out. The rabbit’s ankle hooked over it, and down went the fox and the rabbit.

The crash shook the whole restaurant, but then they became distinctly aware of laughter ringing from all around them.

Mike poked his head cheerfully out of Parts and Services where he’d been hiding.

“Gee, what happened here?” He asked in mock, pleasant innocence. “Ya look a little... _tangled up_ at the moment, guys!”

“Mike!” Foxy whined, his jaw stuck over Bonnie’s shoulder, and one of the rabbit’s ears in his face.

“What did you DO!?”

“Cellophane trick door. Gets em every time.” The young man walked further out, Marionette following.

“Mari helped me hang it—“ said Mike, standing proudly with his hands on his hips.

“And _I_ supplied the cellophane.” Chica, who had been hiding in a corner in the hall. She looked very pleased with herself.

But Bonnie, perhaps because he could see, noticed something first.

“Wait, the Marionette helped you—“

 _‘They do look very ridiculous, don’t they Arthur?’_ The puppet asked lightly, reminding them that just because they couldn’t see Arthur, didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

A soft distant sound of a child’s laughter, so unlike BB’s sound clip was heard between Mike and Marionette.

 _‘Y-yeah! I can’t believe they walked right into it! Are they okay?’_ Arthur asked in that quiet, gentle way of his.

“Well?” asked Mike, his tone warning them to be honest. Of course they were okay.

“Oh—uh, yeah!” Foxy said, struggling to his tail free from Bonnie.

“Oi, stop pulling! Yer only making it worse!”

This set the two off into another verbal argument, which just made Mike and the others laugh some more.

“You realize,” said Bonnie once they’d been freed. “That this means war.” His dangerous grin was shot at Mike, who stared fearlessly back up at the bunny.

“Bring it, Bugs.” Mike challenged, smile just as fierce. “You got three hours before opening, think ya can top us?”

“Oh, I _know_ we can top you, matey.” Foxy shook the last of the cellophane off and cackled.

 _‘…c- can we get them again?’_ Came Arthur’s hesitant, unsure little voice from behind Mike’s shoulder. Mike smiled and waved a hand nonchalantly.

“Don’t worry about it Art. Hey, if you want out, you can go back to the office with Mari.”

 _“N-no!”_ And even Mari blinked at the stubborn little voice. “ _I, I want to help!”_ The child’s voice declared.

 _“As long as no one will be scared…’_ Arthur’s tiny voice reminded, meek and small once more.

“Arright. Deal.” Said Mike, who was willing to keep going. And judging by the looks on Chica’s and Mari’s faces, they were too.

Cleaning up the cellophane mess was another story, but thanks to Mari’s box that seemed to ‘eat’ everything, it only took maybe twenty minutes to get the mess taken care of. After that, they headed back to the office to drop off Mike’s toolbox. Now it was time to regroup.

“I think I saw some paper plates in the dining room, we could use those for something.” Chica suggested.

“Never hurts to be prepared.” Mike commented as they headed for the double doors that would take them to the big room. He pressed his palm to the door and pushed, Marionette at his shoulder and Chica back a step.

“I wonder if we can find some—“

White covered his vision as the door swung open, and a thick cloud of flour came down on the four. Mike inhaled in surprised, which sent him into a coughing fit. Marionette startled and floated back, now mostly white instead of black with just a white mask. Not even Chica was spared, and she too let out of a squawk of surprise as the flour doused her thoroughly. What didn’t hit them covered the floor, slid down the door and poofed into the air like a little bomb of snow.

“ _H-hey!”_ That was Arthur. Who got everyone’s attention because, astonishingly, when they turned toward the sound of his voice, there floated a little figure. He was covered in flour.

“C-crud!” Went Bon as he and Foxy peeked around the corner. “We weren’t supposed to hit—huh?” They froze too at the sight.

“Art, you okay?” Mike asked in concern, giving himself a whack to the chest to clear his lungs. He wasn’t sure what flour could _do_ to a ghost that was harmful or scary but—

Oh.

The little boy was looking down at his flour covered hands. It clung to him wherever it hit, giving him a semi-transparent look.

 _“I-I can see me_!” the head turned, obviously looking delighted. And then he noticed Marionette, his normally stern guardian looking extremely ridiculous covered in the powder.

 _“M-Mari you look, r-really silly—“_ Peals of laughter emanated from the visible ghost, and the lights twinkled in and out cheerfully as Arthur’s giggles grew to laughter.

 _“I have flour in my mouth_.” Said the puppet quietly, which only seemed to make Arthur laughed harder, clutching his small stomach.

“He’s gonna blow a circuit like this,” Bon whispered to the night guard as the two walked up.

“Hey, but he’s happy.” Mike smiled, trying to dust himself off. “How do I look, Arthur?” in-between giggles, Arthur tried to answer.

 _“I-it’s all in your hair…y-you look like a ghost too_.” The boy seemed rather excited about this statement.

“I’ll leave it in then, I don’t mind being a ghost for Halloween. Uh, but I think I’ll use a different costume for the actual day, yeah?” Mike laughed, and stopped trying to clean himself.

“Ya’all look ridiculous.” Freddy grunted from the stage, but his voice was laced with amusement. “But I’m glad yer having fun.”

“Hey, big guy, you coulda joined in on said fun.” Mike reminded, wandering over to the stage to grin up at the leader.

Freddy politely shook his head, looking like he was going to say something else. He stopped though, when Mike pulled out his ringing cell.

“Who’s calling me at this hour? Oh—the boss,” Mike pressed the Call button and held it to his ear. “Uh—hello?”

_“Schmidt! Just a quick check-in, you’ve got the place ready for its inspection this morning at 7, yes?”_

“W-what!?” Mike covered his squeak. He turned horrified eyes to the white walls, white floor, and white Chica and Marionette. Not to mention the now visible little ghost child.

“Sir, no, I don’t think you ever mentioned an _inspection_ today—“

_“Was quite sure I did, you didn’t get the memo? No problem how bad could the place be? The clean-up crew was there last night. Just tidy up and I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”_

“Sir, w-wait—“ Mike tried, panicking right there on the tile.

Mike froze, twisting his upper body giving the clock a mortified look.

“Two—two _hours_?! We have to clean this mess up in two hours!?”Mike moaned, to the chorus of the animatroincs (except a highly amused Freddy) all expelling their own outrage at this injustice and poor timing.

“Mutiny!” Foxy moaned with a raise of his hook, as Bonnie tugged on his ears and Chica furiously tried to clean her suit.

“We’re SO gonna get fired for this!” Bonnie cried.

“Oh, this stuff will never come out!” Chica wailed.

“C’mon gang, we can do this if we, if we don’t panic—I said _don’t_ panic, Bon—and, everyone! Grab a broom or a mop or whatever and start cleaning this crap up!” Mike pointed, mind trying to form a plan. He followed his friends to the utility room, getting some bags and dust pans.

Arthur watched the commotion, covering his mouth to avoid the giggles. He knew the situation was serious, judging by Mikey’s frenzied look, but it was also kind of funny.

 _“W-we can help Mikey too, Mari.”_ He told his puppet, who nodded. _“Go get your box and let’s get to work.”_ Instructed the boy, tone as grown-up as he could muster.

 _“We should get that flour off you too, child.”_ The puppet said calmly.

 _“Let’s save that for last. I like being able to see myself.”_ Arthur said, sounding chipper.

Marionette nodded, if only because the happy tone of the small child was something to be treasured, and not swept away.

It was too rare to be taken for granted.

Freddy watched from his spot on the stage as the six friends labored overtime to get the dining hall cleaned up of all the flour. Though they didn’t have time for it, Mike promised to return the favor in their little prank war. Bonnie and Foxy just cackled and told him to name the time. Mike pushed the broom, sending some flour into the puppet’s box where it vanished. It appeared a moment later in a nearby trash can.

“Hope they don’t notice the missing bags of flour.” Mike muttered as he brushed the last of the flour into Mari’s box.

“Or all of it in the trash.” Bonnie said, glancing into one of the giant trash bins.

“Oh, god.” Mike clapped a hand over his face and sighed.

“Alright everyone, I think this has gone on long enough. What about you, BB?”

“Hello.” Came an amused BalloonBoy as he rocked out from behind the stage.

Everyone blinked as Freddy walked off the stage, followed by BB, who was holding one of the wireless phones. Mike instantly recognized it as one of the ones from the boss’ office. And from there everything just…fell into place.

“…wait a second.”

Freddy Fazbear grinned, and Mike’s suspicions were confirmed.

“…you pranked us.”

“He _what_?!” Bonnie squawked.

“Careful with throwin’ accusations, lad…” Foxy mumbled.

“F-Freddy!” Chica gasped.

“Aye, ya caught me, but I ain’t done it alone.”

“Hi!”

“BB!” Mike said, flashing the bot a smile as he waddled up. He looked immensely pleased with himself. “Let me guess…you mimicked the boss’s voice, didn’t you? Proud of yourself, are we?”

BB giggled in response, handing over the cordless phone.

“Alright you two, you got us.” Mike laughed. He turned to where the still covered in flour ghost child floated. “I gotta admit, that was pretty good.”

Mike hoped Arthur understood what he had meant before. Judging by the quiet form floating beside the Marionette, the boy did. Good, that was a relief.

“Happy Halloween, guys.” Mike said, flopping into a chair and letting himself rest after that mad dash to clean the place up. He rested his head back in his laced fingers, yawning a bit as BB rested against his leg. Marionette’s box found its way over to the table just by Mike’s elbow. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, but going by the cold spot at his right, the little guy wasn’t far.

“Happy Halloween, son.” Freddy grinned. Mike smiled, and let his eyes close. He let the sounds of the pizzeria fade out, let his mind relax and felt the previous tension drain away. He was lucky this job was as awesome as it had become. That in itself was still a miracle.

Tomorrow is another day, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, did you enjoy your little break from the story? I certainly did! It was nice to write some general fluff and silliness with these guys. Tonight’s song was ‘Good Time’ by Owl City. A much more cheerful song than the usual ones I pick in this story.


	12. The Man Who Bears a Heart of Gold

_“And I'll tell you something else that you ain't dying enough to know_  
 _There's still some living left when your prime comes and goes…”_  
**11\. The Man Who Bears a Heart of Gold**

“Is everyone gone?”

“Aye, I think so.” Foxy whispered, starting to move himself. He tiptoed best he could with metal feet, poking his head out of his curtain. His tails switched back and forth in thought.

“…Ya leave the cameras on, matey?” Foxy finally asked, but he sounded like he knew the answer to his own question.

Mike, who was busy slipping out from under his trap, paused and looked over at the fox. “What? No, of course not why—can you see the red light?”

“Be twinkling away, right before me eye.” Foxy stayed frozen in his pose, then moved when the red light vanished. The fox let the curtain fall straight, keeping tem hidden. He turned and looked grimly at the human. “There be a new guard tonight. That puts a hitch in our rigging, don’t it?”

“Not…necessarily.” Mike frowned, chewing on a fingernail as he thought. He was glad Pirate’s Cove was curtained off. No one knew he was back here, camera or not. After a moment’s hesitation, Mike clapped his fist into his palm and nodded.

“I’m going to see who it is. I wasn’t expecting someone new, but they have to know you guys are harmless. And maybe they can help us catch the programmer.”

“Aye…maybe.” said Foxy slowly, looking hesitant.

“Stay here.” Mike instructed, mostly because he was worried an appearance from Foxy might do more harm than good. Foxy had to agree to that, and it wasn’t like Mike was walking into any real danger. And anyway, he was only a shout away. The boy had a set of lungs on him when he was scared enough.

“Be careful, Mikey.”

“Aren’t I always?” Mike grinned toothily as he slipped out of Pirate’s Cove.

“He don’t want me to be answering that.” Foxy grumbled, thinking of the last time Mike left him like this, to go face a malfunctioning Freddy all by himself.

The fox shook his head in fond exasperation and withdrew back into the safety of his Cove.

* * *

Mike entered the office, surprised to find the doors up. When it was _his_ first night, he had dropped both doors until he realized they sucked the battery dry.

 _‘Whoever this is, they’ve got balls.’_ Mike admitted as he turned the corner. He halted so fast his sneakers squeaked on the cheap tile.

“Mr. King!?” Mike’s jaw was slack as he stared at the manager sitting in his chair. The man looked away from the cameras and smiled widely at him in shocked surprise.

“Schmidt, my boy! You’re alive!” King stood up and shook his hand. “It is a pleasure to see you, you had us all quite worried. I’m on for tonight—hard to find someone with your aptitude to replace, boy! But, my, is it a relief you’re safe.”

“Ah…yeah. Hey can we, can we talk?” Mike asked slowly as his arm was pumped, feeling a little uneasy. He freed his hand, and wished suddenly he had asked Foxy to come with him.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Before Mike could react, both doors were closed.

Mike’s first instinct was that now he was cornered. Then he realized how ridiculous that thought was, since he had a pizzeria full of robots who would come to his aid at a moment’s notice.

Mike quickly explained the situation, covering everything he could think of. From the robot’s AI and personalities, to the wireless device controlling Freddy and the others. Mike ended with the cloaked figure—and how the crafty bastard knew to dress accordingly to avoid the robot’s optic cameras and facial recognition features.

“..And I’m sorry I made it seem like I was, that I had just up and vanished. But it was the only way to get that guy off my tail. I figured if I could do that, then…I dunno, catch…the…whoever it was behind this.” Mike finished, palms up and giving a lame little shrug. The manager stared at him a long, slow moment with a look in his eyes Mike couldn’t decipher. He moved his hands from his mouth and stood up, folding his hands behind his back.

“While I appreciate the honesty—something we value _very_ highly here at Freddy’s—I must admit I’m a little concerned you tried to do this all by yourself.” King pressed the left door button. The door slid open, revealing the black hallway.

“Why don’t you go get that fox, and we’ll regroup in the dining hall.” King smiled, “Okay?”

“Uh, yessir.’ Mike said, remembering vaguely that King had lied about Krolmeister tech. Mike turned to leave. The sooner he got to Foxy, the better.

“Oh and, Mike? One more thing.”

Mike sighed, letting his eyes roll up before slowing and starting to turn.

“What is—“

King’s fist flew and abruptly cracked across the side of Mike’s skull, knocking the smaller man flat out and sending him to the floor in a heap of limbs.

King sighed and shook his head in annoyance as he stepped over the prone form.

“Shoulda stayed dead, Schmidt.” He tsked as he reached down and grabbed the body, which he began to carry down the West Hall.

“As the old saying goes: you want something done right…do it yourself.”

* * *

The world came back to him by the swinging of a little ball of light. Several blinks later to clear his fuzzy vision, and Mike realized he was staring up at the overhead bulb of Parts and Services. His hands were bound behind his back, his ankles tied together too. He had a splitting headache and was lying on the floor of the grimy, poorly lit room.

…and after another moment, his memory caught up to his brain. And he knew _why_ he was like this.

“That was a cheap shot, King…” He could see the man just near his head, bent over the middle table and fiddling with something metallic. Mike had a sinking feeling he knew what that something was when he saw a spare costume’s arm dangling. He was readying it for…

“I-it was you. You…fucker.” Mike licked his cracked lips, tasting the blood on the inside of his mouth. He must have bit his cheek at some point. The taste woke him up more. King spared him a glance, then went back to his fiddling. Mike went on, feeling like talking was the only thing to keep himself from being stuffed into a suit.

Which would then be blamed on his friends. Fuck.

“You. You reprogrammed the robots. Y-you set up the power gauge on the generators. And you…you were the one I saw in the back parking lot that night.” Mike winced and tried to move, but could only shift uselessly in place.

“Ah, that incentive of yours again, Schmidt.” King smiled, a gnash of yellowed teeth. “You could have been _such_ an asset to this company; it’s a shame you’re going to be found dead tomorrow morning.” The man’s tone was light, cheerful, and dangerously unhinged.

“I suppose that’s how it goes though. Oh, don’t give me that look. This isn’t personal. It’s just business.” King whistled cheerfully. “Business as usual here at Freddy Fazbear’s: A magical place where fun and fantasy...well, you know.”

“But, h-how? _Why_ —I don’t…I don’t understand…” Mike groaned and tried to sit up. Somehow, he managed.

“You can’t be the—the killer. From the other restaurant…” He remembered briefly what Marionette had said that night they met.

_“This is about revenge.”_

And so it was.

“…he was my Uncle.” King’s tone had dropped its levity. Mike knew he touched on a nerve. Before Mike could say anything more, the man went on, voice distant and too quiet, his hands stalled as the man’s eyes became very, very far away.

“He was _never_ as bad as they made him out to be. Sure, sure he was a little troubled but—but back then everyone was! But no one _talked_ about it.” A low growl came from the manager. “No one got him the help he needed, he was left to rot and when he snapped—and my mother, she had to lose a brother— _she_ was inconsolable. _Dad_ left us, and I...“ King was shaking his head, as if to dislodge painful memories.

“It wasn’t his fault, what he did.” King cut himself off to make this point.

“Except, yeah, it totally was.” Mike managed, glaring daggers up at the man.

“ _No_! You don’t understand—you’re just a kid, and they never understand—“

“I understand one thing! Freddy and the others are, are gonna _kick your ass_ when they find…” Mike trailed off at the laughter coming from the sick man’s mouth.

“You think I started this without reprogramming them again? I’m ashamed at you, Mike. Shout as loud as you want, they can’t hear you now.” King pinched Mike’s cheek and pulled it playfully, earning a little growl from the night guard at the gesture.

“Those animatronics were always the key to my plan. I needed them, you see? Well, I only needed that stupid bear. The others listen to him like lemmings.”

“He’s not stupid!” Mike’s outburst earned him a sharp slap to the cheek, sending him against the wall behind him.

“Shut up! My experiment _worked_ the first time! On Jeremy…” King eyed him. “A bit like you, really. Young, bright-eyed and stupid. I’ll never understand why that broken down fox snapped during the day though…a minor malfunction.” King growled. But it had certainly set him back some, with suspicion on the entire restaurant.

“Then Scott—that nosey rat almost got the truth from them. But I set him straight—I did it. They paid for what happened to my Uncle.” King laughed, fixing the last part and pulling back. “But _I’ve_ got control of them now, and they do _my_ bidding!” King paused in his triumph, seeming to lose focus with the here and now.

“It’s just… my way of making things right with the universe. You understand that, right?’ King’s sorrow melted back into an unhinged rage. “They’re the monsters!”

“ _He_ killed those children!” Mike spat out some blood. “As far as I’m concerned he’s the monster! He fucking deserved worse if you ask me—“ the hit King delivered this time had him seeing stars, causing Mike to cough into silence and give a short gasp of pain. When he could open his eyes without the world spinning, he was briefly aware that he could see a large white present box sitting under the table by the door. His determination didn’t waver.

He wasn’t alone.

“King, I swear…you’re not gonna get…” Mike sucked in air, wincing as it caused his cheek and head to throb. “A-away with this. Even if…you get me. There’ll be others.” He reminded, thinking of the Marionette’s promise.

“Oh, don’t play that game with me, Schmidt.” King gave him a disgusted, disappointed look. “I’ve gotten away with it _already_. As long as I control Fazbear, whoever sits in that office chair in the guard room? Their life is in _my_ hands.”

“You f-forgot one—you forgot Foxy—“

“The out of order bot?” This time, King paused. A chink in the armor.

“Dammit—you’re right.” King hissed, knowing he’d have to go take care of the fox now before he did anything else. Before he could set them up for Mike’s death, he had to make sure they weren’t interrupted. It was well into the night and it was a miracle the fox hadn’t come by yet, sheer luck so far even. King wasn’t worried though. A quick shot from a tazer and the broken down bot would be taken care of.

“Stay here. You make a _single_ sound—no, you know what?” King was looking around, and spotted in the shadows a Freddy Fazbear head. He grabbed it, and swiftly slammed it over Mike’s head before the night guard could do anything else.

“There. That oughta keep you quiet.”

Mike closed his eyes, waiting until the man had gone before opening them. He didn’t want King to see his nearly shiny eyes; he wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction. Struggling with the ropes only made them cut into his wrists more, rubbing them raw. Mike winced at the pain and shifted his position, trying to call for help. His voice, already weak, was muffled.

The Freddy head was doing its job, unfortunately for Mike.

Strangely enough, he couldn’t remember this one ever being one of the back room heads though. It seemed a completely wrong color. Maybe time and grime had faded it from its once brown? But his head hurt too much for Mike to be able to hold more than one coherent train of thought. He heard the rustling of some fabric that was shiny, like the bow on top of Marionette’s box. He felt rather than heard movement beside him, and briefly lifted his foggy gaze to see that familiar white face move into the peripheral of the ancient Fazbear head.

But then, Mike pondered dimly as his were suddenly too heavy to keep open,

What sort of brown turned to _gold_?

* * *

A soft yellow glow that had been haunting his dreams was coming at him again. Slow, and almost hesitant. Mike knew he had a choice, knew he had several choices in fact. He remembered his first strange dream, the one with the broken glass, the overwhelming fear of this golden thing chasing him. And yet…maybe it hadn’t been chasing _him_.

Maybe it had been following him.

Mike blinked slowly. He felt numb and sleepy. A dangerous combination.

The light got brighter, closer, and Mike could feel its warmth just nearing him, but it wasn’t enough to keep the sinking cold at bay for long.

His body floated in that strange space of his mind, teetering on the edge of something very dark and deep. It was where the Marionette could exist, but nothing else. Nothing except Marionette and his kid could thrive in this detached, otherworldly plane. It was like…it seemed like purgatory, if you asked Mike and if he had the strength to talk. Right now though, if something didn’t give, he was going to go over the edge and probably never wake up again. His heart was a faint throb that was missing too many beats. It was finally giving out, and Mike Schmidt honestly felt like giving up.

But, no. His friends.

What would happen to them if King wasn’t stopped? The previous emotion toward this bright orb of light came back to him, fleeting and haunting. Whatever it was, besides scary, it was powerful. Maybe as powerful as the Marionette, but in a different way. A sort of power Mike could maybe _use_. But this time, instead of shying from it?

Mike reached for it.

He had the vaguely forbidding feeling that _he_ would be the one being used, but the night guard found he couldn’t stop it once he started to allow the presence closer to him. That deep voice, the one that had been forced to speak riddles to him all this time in the far back of his mind, was suddenly very clear and all around him.

All he had needed to do was get his head on straight.

_Your task…is simple…_

_Your tools….old…_

_The man who bears…_

_A HEART OF **GOLD**. _

_‘Please. I need your help.’_ He thought to it, desperate and fearful. _‘I’ve got to save them.’_

 _Ah, Michael._ Rumbled a deep baritone, only vaguely familiar. The warmth hit his fingertips. _An I thought you’d never ask._

Warmth flooded his entire body, and Mike nearly blacked out from the surge of power. He was getting close.

 _‘I’ve got to save them.’_ Mike’s voice was a weak plea. But the baritone answer was heavy with rage and satisfaction as darkness consumed the body of Michael Schmidt. Mike went in. Something new came out.

_‘You CAN.’_

* * *

It can feel the weight of a beating heart, for the first time in years.

The ancient Golden Freddy suit twitched. It jerked. It jolted. Sparks shot from its joints as it came online in a different way than the newer robots did. With a final shudder and a low groan, the suit came to life.

Because a suit like Gold could not move without a body inside. And with Mike down and out for the count, it was up to Gold to utilize the new suit Marionette had handpicked for him. Gold briefly drew some similarities between the soul of Michael Schmidt and that of Scott, but deep down the old bear could feel for itself that already, there was something different about this one. The heart, the actual physical organ, was weak. Faulty.

Feh. Gold could fix _that_.

The animatronic let out a grunt as it pumped a little more energy into the human body lying dormant within in. Within moments, the dangerous head wound Mike suffered from dulled and faded, the ache chewed right up by the hot white energy. His stuttering, weakened heart was replaced by something much more stable. But the other type of heart? The one humans referred to as the _soul_?

Now, that one. That one was something special. Something new.

 _‘Are you ready, my old friend? You are needed once more.’_ Marionette asked simply as it watched its friend jerk to life there on the floor. Gold rose up slowly from is slumped over position, drawing its mouth closed as it leaned against the wall. The jaw worked, testing its new found power source out.

And now, Marionette’s companion could speak once more.

 _“Here we go, little buddy. An I think I will like this suit you choose.” _Gold grumbled out. With a satisfied nod, the Marionette withdrew back into its box and fell silent. Its job was done, and now Gold could do what the puppet, Mike or even the other robots could not.

The rest was up to Gold.

But getting up? That was a different story.

Wires sparked and bobbed as the great yellow bear tried to heave its self to its feet. A bit hard, when you were a semi-stable being using a human soul as your power source, and said power source was a confused jumble of emotions. That hit to the head the new suit had taken wasn’t doing anything good for them either. Still, it wasn’t for a lack of Gold’s trying, but Mike was still—understandably—resisting a bit. But they had no time for such fears.

 _“No need to fear what you can’t avoid.”_ Gold tried reasoning. Still, the other side of their growing bond was weak and flighty like a dying humming bird trapped in its cage. This had been the part where Gold and Scott had been forced to part ways. The man’s soul and body had simply not been enough.

But Michael…

 _“We work together, or not at all, suit_.” Golden Freddy grumbled in minor annoyance as his arm effused to budge. Mike was fighting him, unaware of the strain and growing scared now. He was only semi-conscious, really.

 _“Dammit, Michael.”_ Gold grunted as he struggled with even the most basic of motions. _“Can’t keep fighting me on this. C’mon boy. Trust me.”_ At the sound of his name, the mind of Michael Schmidt gave a feeble response, flighty and weak. But Gold sensed something deeper in there. Just below his mind—yes there it was. That heart of his. The thing that had drawn the puppet to it in the first place.

Gold bargained with the human’s more sensitive side, where emotions and feelings bled from. It was enough to get them up and leaning heavily on a wall, but not enough to get them actually moving. If Gold tried to take a step he’d fumble and fall.

 _‘Help them.’_ Mike’s voice rang weakly, unused to being in the back seat of what he perceived as his own body. The desperate request worked. Between Mike’s honest intentions to save his friends, and Gold’s desire to stop the man causing the problems was making something just…align ever so slightly in the correct position. They agreed on the task at hand.

Golden took one step. Two. Three.

 _“There we go, boy!”_ Gold roared triumphantly, keeping the human’s soul focused on the threat of that Adult. Walking became easier, smoother.

And faster.

 _“Now we’re cooking.”_ He cheered as the hulking animatronic made it out of Parts and Service.

Golden Freddy stormed down the hall, strange black smoke chugging from its system as it staggered around the corner. He eyed the door as they neared it.

 _“Let’s see what you’re made of, Schmidt.”_ He gnashed his blood stained teeth in a horrible smile, and felt the man’s soul pulse back.

A gold paw made a fist, reared back, and came at the door.

With a huge crash, one of the swinging doors went flying off its hinges and toppled into the dining room with an almighty crash. Golden Freddy heaved its great body in, towering over the measly human that it immediately set white pinprick eyes on. The others stood stationary on the stage, servos locked up. King froze, standing over the prone form of Foxy the pirate. The sight of the downed animatronic stirred something deadly and protective in Michael Schmidt’s normally gentle soul. Gold latched on to that emotion, and fed off it.

Ghosts _were_ made of emotion, after all.

 _“You, sir.”_ The massive bear growled wickedly, eye plates slamming down over the black circles of his eye sockets to portray his intense hatred. _“We must talk business.”_

And before anything else could happen, King blinked. Golden was gone. A hallucination?

When he opened his eyes in that single blink, the robot was now standing before him. Mike would pay for that little stunt later, but right now it worked on scaring the living daylights out of the Adult. King yelped in fear over the new animatronic he didn’t recognize, and tried to get out of the way.

 _“Shame.”_ Gold snorted, “ _Ya coulda gotten out of this by the skin of yer teeth, you know? But no. Just had to go after my new suit. After my little buddy spent so long getting him ready for me, ya sneak thief.”_ A massive paw had the man by the collar and lifted him effortlessly off the ground. The man’s hand came up, something small and black in it, but Gold snatched that and crushed the device like it was a grape. The crumpled remnants were carelessly tossed away as Gold dragged King away from Foxy and toward the door he’d just burst through. Sparks jutted from the wires hanging from Gold’s left eye, as his eyes narrowed to enraged slits. He drew the simpering Adult in close, letting the man get a good, hard look at the Animatronic He Could Not Reprogram.

“Why a-are you doing this--?” came a weak rasp. Gold laughed.

_“Why? You sat in the night guard’s chair. Your life is in MY hands, now.”_

_“Think I’ll start with the legs, work my way up. How’s that sound?”_ Gold tilted his head, asking as if he actually cared what King’s opinion on his own traumatizing death was. _“Or, maybe I’ll chomp on ya here and now—that’s what I’m best known for after all.”_ He chuckled a little darkly, but it was bitter.

“I w-w-was—“

 _“Now, now, King.”_ Gold commented lightly as he dragged the man off. Anytime he tried to squirm Gold shook him by the collar like one would a dog. _“This ain’t personal. This is **business**. You **are** man of business, aren’t you?”_

He was all ready to lift the man and smash his puny little head into the wall, silencing him forever, when that voice rang in the back of Gold’s mind.

_‘…don’t…stop. Don’t—don’t kill him.’_

“P-please—“

 _“Shut yer simpering! Here now. What’s this? My new suit doesn’t want me to do away with ya, King.”_ Gold leered at him, giving him a good look at those teeth. The man whimpered, and Gold looked satisfied. _“Now ain’t that interesting? Ain’t that quaint? He seems to think I’m better than you are. Better **what** , though? I ain’t an adult. Certainly ain’t human._

 _I suppose, the real question here is…am I a good a soul as the one I’m wearing?”_ Gold made a show of rubbing its metal jaw line, stroking it in contemplation _._

For a long moment, the gold bear let King hang in the silence of What Could Be, instead of What Actually Would Be. Ever since Mike began his feeble pleas and attempts to keep the man from being slaughtered, Gold had conceded this one to Mike. It was best to keep the new suit happy, where it would be more inclined to stay compliant and allow Gold out every now and then.

And he had gotten oh so tired of being a shadow of his former self, a mere hallucination at best. It was nice to stretch his legs, nicer still to rid the world of one more murderer.

“ _Ah got one thing to say to you, though, King.”_ Gold barked, looking pleased when the man flinched badly. _“A coupla words from my new suit to you, that is.”_ Mike’s soul pulsed in admiration, giving Gold the go ahead for talking for him. Seems the night guard could still recall a certain statement said by the manager. And so Gold learned in close, his black sockets straight from the pits of Hell boring down into the puny human’s wide, terrified ones.

 _“Remember to smile. Yer the face of Fredbear’s Family Diner, after all.”_ And with a final swing of his paw, Gold delivered the same blow that King had done to Mike earlier. With a low grunt, the man went down like a sack of potatoes. Gold dusted his large paw off absently, looking disgusted from having to hold onto such a person for so long.

 _“That oughta do it.”_ The ghost-robot commented idly, looking around. _“Seems my fifteen minutes are up, eh Michael?”_ He asked the thin air, partly to keep the straining human soul aware and also to warn him of what was coming next. He felt his large body lock into place. Power drained and reaching dangerously low levels, Gold had little choice but to withdraw as quickly as he could into the mind of the night guard. It was Mike’s turn to be the suit, you see, l and Gold would lie doormat until he was needed again.

And without much fanfare, Golden Freddy went in, and Mike Schmidt came out.

* * *

“We…did it?” Was all Mike could manage, before his skinny legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He braced himself against the floor, closing his eyes to keep from throwing up. His body ached, every muscle quivering and threatening to crumple him to the ground. Looking over to his left, he could see the one robot that was within reaching distance. Provided his body didn’t give out first.

“Foxy…” It took every ounce of energy Mike had left—and a bit he didn’t have—to crawl over and slam trembling fingers to the pirate’s AI slot.

It landed on 5, and Mike heard the familiar sound of a robot powering up. Then he knew no more. This time, instead of his body being replaced by a suit and his soul being the power source, Mike merely slept. Nothing and no one invaded his dreams.

And it was the best sleep he’d had since he started this job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight’s song was ‘Big Casino’ by Jimmy Eat World. There’s one chapter left for Devil’s Spine.


	13. The Knight Guard

_“One love, one life_  
_That’s enough to get you through the night_  
_Tomorrows gotta be a brighter day…”_  
**13\. The Knight Guard**

Mike opened his eyes, saw nothing but darkness and felt nothing but lightweight. He instantly knew where he was, and he groaned wearily.

‘Okay…this is getting _really_ old.’ He gripped gently, feeling like he earned the right to complain. Even if it was when he was all alone.

_'You did it!_ ’ a cheerful young voice suddenly chimed before him.

Er, maybe not so alone as he thought.

With a surprised noise, Mike lifted his head and stared in surprise at the little ghost form of…

‘Arthur?’ Despite being in some strange sort of space, his voice was thick and croaky when he projected. ‘You…you talk?’

Arthur nodded sheepishly, smile faltering a second before it blossomed back again.

_‘Puppet’s really proud of you—he’s resting right now; cause he’s always tired after helping Goldy.’_ Arthur informed seriously. Oh god, it was adorable.

‘Gol…dy?’ Mike sat up a little more, eyeing on the little ghost-boy. His dried tear tracks glinted in the strange burnished light. This light, the same as it always was, so soft and lilting, struck Mike with its color. He _knew_ this sensation. He was in his mind and this light was—

It was gold.

_'Yeah.’_ Arthur said with a bob of his head. _‘I used to be, uhm, really scared of him! But he’s nice, and he said he was sorry for what he did to me a long time ago. He fixed your heart for you.’_ Arthur pointed at the man’s chest. Mike’s eyes widened, covering the area on instinct.

‘He fixed my heart—what!? How?” Mike swallowed, and then “W…why?’

_‘Why not?”_ Arthur seemed confused, as if the reason was obvious _. “You’re part of our family. And family…family takes care of one another.’_

‘Goldy…he’s the one who…he called me a suit.’ Mike mumbled.

_'Well, uh. Yeah, you are. I-i-it’s okay! Puppet’s MY suit, but we can’t switch like you guys can.’_ Arthur tucked his chin down to his chest, looking worried and avoiding Mike’s gaze.

Mike, who was just rubbing his forehead tiredly as he tried to piece together the last few hours, nodded absently at the explanation. All that had happened, Freddy, Goldy and King—

‘King— _King_! Goldy! I, I told him not to kill him! He didn’t did he?’ Mike asked worriedly.

_‘Uh, no.’_ Arthur shrugged, blinking wide owlish eyes up at him. _“You asked him not to. The animatronics are really close to their suits, he’ll listen to you. Puppet listens to me.’_

Relief flooded his system at the promise King would received the correct punishment. Killing was...horrible, no body deserved to die. Especially not a relative of a psychopath—even one unhinged and troubled in a pursuit for some twisted form of revenge. Being put away in jail was what should happen to people like King. Getting stuffed into a suit was no way to go. Even if, Mike thought grimly, he would be dying the way he’d killed Scott. A twist of irony that thankfully didn’t come to pass.

Mike smiled when he recalled Arthur’s little statement concerning the suits and their animatronics. ‘Marion loves you a lot, Art.’

Arthur nodded, cheeks going see-through as if his body was trying to blush. Mike tipped his head back and rested a moment, realizing the weight off his chest he had gotten so used to was…gone. Gold really _had_ fixed his heart. Thinking it over, Mike realized that a problematic heart in a ‘suit’ would most likely cause problems for Gold. So, while the ghost-like animatronic had helped Mike out, he had also helped himself. A little nervous cough broke him from his thoughts.

_‘Uh, hey…Mr. Night Guard Man?’_

Mike laughed a little. ‘Call me Mike, Art. Or Mikey.”

A distracted nod.

_'Mr. Mikey?“—_ Mike grinned— _'Are you…mad?'_ Mike’s grin faltered.

‘What? Mad? Why would I be mad, Arthur?’

_'Well…you’re okay being a suit? Goldy’s—he’s the oldest one. He was around when I was a kid, and he’s also the best of all the suits, Puppet says.’_ At Mike’s confused head tilt, Arthur flexed his little arms like a strongman might, and it was utterly adorable.

_‘The strongest. Not even Mr. Freddy can beat him.’_

‘Yeah?’ Mike smiled a little.

_'Yah-huh. Puppet tried to put Goldy in the other night man, but he…he didn’t make it. Goldy was too much…’_

‘O-oh.’ Mike swallowed, realizing Scott had probably been distracted with Gol—so that no wonder the animatronics had gotten him on that night. ‘I’m, I’m sorry.'

' _It’s okay.’_ Arthur shook his head, sounding very old. It struck Mike then, that just because he looked like a kid didn’t mean the mentality had to match.

_'Gold’s really great to have around; he can keep us all safe from bad people like Mr. King. But…we need you, **he** needs you to be able to come out.’_

‘Arthur…hey, I’m not mad. I promise, okay?’ Mike smiled to show he was earnest. ‘I’m really confused, and a little scared. But I’m also touched you all trust me. This is…a lot of responsibility.’

Arthur nodded. _‘So…you’ll stay?’_

‘Huh? Oh—yeah, Arthur. I’ll stay.’ It was a little late now, but Mike kept that thought to himself.

Arthur’s smile nearly glowed. ‘ _He said he’ll stay!_ ’ He suddenly called, and Mike paused in confusion.

‘ _Yaaaaaaay_!!’ A sudden chorus of children sounded all around them, brief balls of glowing light. They had no bodies. They had no features to distinguish but there were four orbs in all standing in a circle around Arthur, the crying child who was crying from happiness now.

‘W-what--!!’ Mike managed, covering his eyes as the gold light was overwhelmed. In a burst of white light, four of the orbs popped and darted upward.

Just like that, they were gone.

Mike clutched his chest, feeling the strangeness of the perfect beat and sucking in air.

‘What…was _that_?’ He gasped out to Arthur, who giggled gently and swiped at his cheeks. The permanent tear stains did not move, but the habit seemed instinctual.

_Those were my friends! You know them, silly. They’ve been here all along…’_ Arthur’s voice was fading out, and Mike felt a bizarre sensation. Each blink was harder than the next.

_Now that **you’re** here to take care of the animatronics, the kids can rest in peace!’_ Like the twinkle of a dying star, Arthur’s ghost body vanished with a pulse of warm, lighthearted energy.

' _Thank you, Mr. Night Guard!’_

* * *

Mike woke up, disorientated and dazed.

“…Mikey?”

For a second, Mike was too distracted to notice the voice, he just heard the word. His brain was still a few minutes behind.

“Ar...Arthur?” His tongue was dry and stuck to the bottom of his mouth.

“Eh? No—no I ain’t…that young’un. It’s me, matey—“

“Foxy? Oh. Foxy.” Mike lifted his head, only for it to flop back down against something soft but hard. It took him a moment to notice he was sitting up against Foxy’s side, his head on the pirate’s shoulder.

“Hi Foxy.” He blinked tiredly around the security guard’s room, taking note of the present box sitting on the desk. Somehow, it looked as tired as Mike felt, what with the drooping bow and sagged in walls.

“Ya tired, lad?” Foxy sounded amused.

“Yeah. Wanna sleep.” Mike yawned and closed his eyes, but let himself drift off. “I can’t I know, but…”

“Best wait to do that, lad. I took care of what I could.” Foxy explained quietly as he stayed very still, to ensure he wouldn’t disturb Mike. “Freddy and Bonnie are with the scoundrel King.”

“…doing what with him.” Mike said slowly, wondering if he had to get up and go save King’s sorry ass from a suit.

“Easy, Mikey.” Foxy sounded amused. “The scallywag’s tied up to a chair and they ain’t hurt a hair on his little head. He sure is shook up though, lad. You do that?” Foxy sounded amused.

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t me but it wasn’t _not_ me. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Nah, I get it. I said good bye to my little matey myself.” Foxy sounded sad, and Mike’s heart went out to him. “Felt a little sad ta see him go, but. Had to happen. Didn’t want to end up like the Black Devil and his kid.

Mike nodded, realizing just who the four orbs of light belonged to. Arthur had called them his friends.

“…Mari told me the child killer was already gone. Why did the victims stay behind after, Captain?” He asked softly, lidded eyes staring across the room at the present box.

“Ah, we ain’t quite sure. Part of it _was_ cause of us—they were worried when we started acting jumpy. Didn’t _know_ it was King at the time. I think the Devil mighta known, s’why he tried choosing a night guard for the Gold Freddy."

“Yeah?”

A slow nod. “The kids were tryin’ to look out for us. Return the favor…they were good little mateys. But little mateys who had the world on their shoulders, none worse than the crying boy.”

“Yeah.” Mike swallowed, finally finding the strength to sit up. “Alright…I’m up.” He had to keep moving, if only for Arthur, the Marionette, and all those night guards that never found the answer.

“You look awful, Mike.” That was Bonnie, who walked into the office from the left side like always.

“Oh god, Bon. Always with the compliments.” Mike laughed tiredly and tried standing. It sort of worked. He arched his back and winced when his shoulder popped. Well. So the Marionette’s magical first aid had a few kinks. Oh well. It could be worse.

He could be dead.

“C’mon, let’s get this place cleaned up guys.” Mike sighed tiredly, walking out of the room when Bonnie backed up to make him space. “We gotta lot to do before the police get here.” He said, recalling the broken table, door, and general disorder of the place. The cops were going get here way before the clean-up crew.

“Good!” said the bunny, and his voice was dark. “Cause Fred ain’t done with that fruitloop just yet.”

He cackled, but Mike felt just a little sorry for King.

* * *

Richard Drummond was a very busy man.

He had to be, he was the secretary for a large corporate company. This meant any polite letter signed by Mr. Fazbear was nothing but a big electronic smooch from Drummond. Sometimes the letters were not so polite, and sometimes Mr. Fazbear had to show up somewhere he simply didn’t have time to be.

Or _wanted_ to be, which is what the secretary suspected the case might be.

That’s where Richard’s job came in. He was a man who loved numbers and order, and as long as the books were balanced and the tables lined up he knew better than to ask into the history of the pizzeria. Particularly _this_ branch, what with its penchant for disappearances and grisly reports of animatronics going crazy and stuffing innocent people into spare suits. It was the only branch left in the whole country, a low side project that was most likely going to close by the end of year anyway, so what did it matter if he went out there.

But the boss had said so.

The whole thing gave him the willies, but Drummond had long ago mastered his poker face. And he wasn’t very attached to any facsimile of the restaurant, unlike his cowardly CEO. So when he received the notice of Truman King—the head manager of the branch in downtown—Drummond was only concerned with how much fare it would cover to get to that ratty little hole of a restaurant. The man had been arrested five days ago and was being convicted of manslaughter through use of the animatronics. Aside from murder, he had also tampered with the electronics and the restaurant in general. Shame too, because his profit margin percentage had been doable in the last few months, which had surprised Drummond but pleased the boss.

By the time he got there, it was drizzly and dismal and just past lunch. Which he had missed, thanks to his flight. He was soaked from protecting his briefcase—a lovely piece of leatherwork from his sister last Christmas—and he was in a sour mood from the concept of all this paperwork they’d be tied up in. The short, bent over man made a hunched beeline for the front entrance. The pizzeria had been closed for the last few days, due to destruction and general uncleanliness. Apparently the cleaning crew had been rehired and were working overtime on the grimy joint. He noticed there was only one other car in the parking lot, a decade old dark blue car sat under the light, which had been left on due to the gray day.

So someone _was_ still here then, Drummond noted as he reached for the door. Whoever it was, cashier, cook or tech, they were going to get a piece of his mind about this whole disaster, especially if they were as incompetent as the sort of people who usually worked here. Drummond didn’t have the power to fire them, but he could suggest it and drop hints until Mr. Fazbear gave him the okay to do so.

The door was pulled back before he could grasp the slick handle.

“Ah, Mr. Drummond. A pleasure to see you today, sir.” Rumbled a thick voice with a faintly country bumpkin accent.

Drummond looked up. And up and up.

“Erh, yes. Hello…Freddy.” These AI features and that voice recognition—he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it all. But anytime he implied his feelings, the boss chortled and said it was because he was a desk jockey and had never spent time with the little band of robots. They were alright, the boss had said.

At least we don’t have to pay them, Drummond had said.

“…would you like to come in out of the rain?” Freddy suggested, in a tone that implied he had waited to ask the question on purpose. One look in the bear’s optics and Drummond knew that Freddy knew that he was less than enthusiastic about this whole meeting. The secretary nodded and came in, but did not thank the bear. He noted the other two; the rabbit and the chicken were locked on stage and completely still. There was an obvious gap where Freddy ought to be, and yet he had come and opened the door for him.

Had they changed the free roam rules? He couldn’t remember, that wasn’t his department, and since Freddy didn’t seem inclined to stuff him into his suit, Drummond decided not to worry about it until he could talk to a human.

“Where is the staff member?” Drummond asked, setting his precious briefcase on what looked like the cleanest table. He raised his brow at the one split in half that had been push haphazardly in a corner, but said nothing.

“ _I_ am a staff member, if that’s what ya mean.” Fazbear said evenly as he walked over to the much smaller man. Drummond flushed and fumbled a short,

“Yes, well, I mean a hu—a, you know—“

“Hey big guy, do we have any more paper towels somewhere? I need to clean—oh!”

Drummond and Freddy both looked up as the scrawny man entered the dining hall. He seemed mostly limbs and angles, and his required blue security shirt was at least one size to big, so it had to be sloppily tucked into his faded jeans. Drummond eyed him up and down, from his uncombed flyaway hair to his taped up sneakers as the guy ambled in. He seemed apparently unaware of the tensions between the human and robot, because he walked over to Freddy like the animatronic _didn’t_ have over a foot on him, and leaned leisurely against the bear’s side. This changed Fazbear’s posture from tensed to more of a relaxed demeanor, which maybe the man had been meaning to do all long.

“Hey, you must be…from the company?” A boney hand was stuck out at him. “I’m Mike Schmidt, the night guard.

“Oh, well, that explains it then. Drummond, secretary to the CEO of Fazbear Corp.” Drummond said that first bit before he could stop himself.

“Explains what?” Not a very bright one, then. The night staff usually wasn’t. Drummond chalked it up to no sleep and decided to forgive the boy for any more short comings. Provided they didn’t cost the restaurant any money, that is. Ah yes, now that he thought of it. The notice had said a Michael Schmidt had called the police in, and had uncovered King’s seedy business.

“Your… _attire_.” Despite his comment, he shook the offered hand and inwardly grimaced at the oil that came off with it. He wiped it on his pants—he wasn’t paid enough for this damn job—and tried to ignore Freddy’s critical stare at him. As if it were _Drummond_ with a poorly kept uniform, and a lackadaisical attitude. Freddy didn’t seem at all bothered by the young man using him for a leaning post.

“My—oh, yeah. Well, I’ve only been on the job a week, like just over two weeks maybe.” Mike shrugged as if this explained everything. “Hey, I didn’t know it was raining so bad out—I’ve been in the back room working on the bots—uhm, hey, Freddy?”

“Yes’un.” Said the bear, who did not take his eyes off Drummond.

“Would you mind getting Mr. Drummond a blanket or something so he can dry off? Annnd maybe something to drink so he doesn’t catch a cold.” When Freddy balked, Mike added a little ‘please?’ As if you could control an animatronic by saying please, and patted his arm.

“…be right back.” was what Freddy finally said, giving a faint, suspicious glance at Drummond before stomping out of the room. Mike went to sit at the table Drummond had set up his stuff.

“Thanks, Fred.” Mike called, but dropped his voice back to normal speaking level when he was sure Freddy had gone. “Sorry if he seems a little…on edge. This whole thing with King sort of, threw him out of whack.” Mike winced and went on delicately. “I don’t think he feels good that someone who worked here was getting away with murder right under his nose…again.” Drummond shot him a look.

“Yes, well. That’s in the past. He can’t do anything about it now.”

Mike smiled a little, and Drummond noticed it was strained briefly. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. Try not to say that in front of him, yeah? I had to turn on his free roam because he didn’t want you to come during the day and talk to me when he wasn’t here.”

“No?” Now, that was a bit interesting. Drummond could overlook the blatant disregard of the rules for an instant, because Fazbear had never demanded he be around when the other meetings had occurred with King. Those had just been checks up after all, but still…

“Well, now we’re not sure who _else_ has other reasons for working here. It could be anyone.”

“You could be one of those people yourself, Schmidt.” Drummond pointed out, following the man’s logic.

“Sure, you’re right.” Mike tilted his head. “But I’m not, and Freddy knows that. I haven’t worked here long enough. I think he just wants to make sure you won’t try anything.”

“Like what?” Drummond snorted, intrigued by this bold, lower middle class man who was clearly toeing the poverty line.

“Like hurting me.” Mike said quietly, fingers laced on the table. Drummond looked shocked for a moment, and opened his mouth to respond. It was at this moment, Freddy returned and the two men wisely dropped the subject.

“Here.” The blanket turned out to be a new table cloth, and the drink was luke warm coffee in a small Styrofoam cup. Mike thanked him anyway, and Drummond did only after Mike had, because he felt a sting of guilt. Fazbear took a seat beside the night guard, who really couldn’t be over twenty-three, twenty-two at the latest, and went back to watching Drummond like a hawk.

He supposed that made Schmidt the baby chick in the nest then, and the snide thought was what kept Drummond from spitting the vile coffee out.

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, Schmidt, I’m here in light of the situation with Truman, who was a good employee.”

“He reprogrammed the bots and made them _stuff people into suits_.” Mike deadpanned. Drummond held his palms out.

“I said good employee, not good man.”

Mike gave him a look at that, but let him go on.

“PR has the media situation covered, which is all well and good. But I am here for _this_ restaurant, specially its future.”

“What happened wasn’t the gang’s fault. None of it.” And it’s the first ounce of bite Drummond has heard from the young man sitting across from him. Mike’s arms are folded, his eyes narrowed and for a brief instant Drummond almost thinks he sees fleck of gold in the ice blue gaze. But then Mike blinks, and it’s gone. Drummond shakes his head and pauses a moment. His wife is right, he ought to switch to decaf.

“Blame aside, I’m not here for that either. There are rules to running an establishment, Schmidt. I’m not sure you’re aware—“

“Being _just_ the night guard and all,” Mike snorts, earning Freddy’s highly amused look.

“ _Nevertheless_ ,” Drummond stresses to get their attention back on him, “We _need_ to replace the head manager position. As quickly as possible, to avoid suspicion. Someone with leadership skills, and someone who, more importantly, will keep this whole messy business with King under the rug. Murder and mayhem does not get money in this door. And it does not pay the bills for the lights, or the animatronics who suck up more electricity than the kitchen alone.” He crunched the numbers, he knew.

Mike winced, sharing a worried look with Freddy. Drummond can tell Mike knows he’s right, and if he’s as loyal to the animatronics as he previously implied, Drummond also knows Mike can only agree with him. To say otherwise would get the pizzeria closed down.

“Why not Freddy?” said Mike innocently. Drummond choked on his coffee.

“A computer personality.” Drummond grunted, completely thrown off. “I’m not sure one of those should be running the restaurant.”

“Well who else is there?” Mike said with a snort, as if Freddy were the obvious choice.

“Who else, he asks. For instance… _you_ , Schmidt.”

“Ya’d make the boy head manager? Really?” Freddy looked impressed, but turned to the stunned night guard. “That’d solve a lotta problems, son.” He reasoned.

Drummond internally frowned. Hadn’t the boss said something about Freddy calling boys and girls certain nicknames? Son, for example, was specifically programmed in there to be aimed at children. If he recalled correctly, that pirate only called children matey. It was to make them feel special, that sort of thing.

But here was Freddy using the term for the night guard. Strange.

Well, he wasn’t getting paid for strange. He was getting paid for results. If the weird robot was that fond of Schmidt, this could work to the company advantage.

As long as Mike didn’t die, of course.

“Wait, _me_?” Mike’s jaw was slack. “Uh, I mean, I’d love to but are you sure—“ He was gesturing helplessly to the bear, but Freddy cut him off with a paw.

“Son, my place is on the stage. It’s what I’m made for. But you, ya gotta figure out what you’re made for.”

Mike lapsed into silence.

“You can give me your answer by the end of the day, if it helps.” Drummond said, not unkindly for once. “We still have other things to address, for example.” And the less time he spent there, the quicker he could catch a plane out of this town.

“Oh? Okay, right. Shoot.”

“There’s the matter of your office, for one thing. If you do take the manager position, we’d of course give you his old office and…what’s the matter? Something wrong?"

“I don’t…I’d really prefer the guard’s office.” Mike smiled, giving a little shrug. “I’ve gotten used to its size, it’s kind of…cozy?”

The man was crazy.

“Those doors…” Drummond started slowly.

“Well, they’re not really needed now that everyone’s back to normal.” Mike reminded with a gesture to the others standing stoic on the stage. Drummond wondered briefly if they could hear everything.

Because of that, he suggested they go to Mike’s office, under the guise of seeing the situation for himself. Mike took him there, and unsurprisingly Freddy was on their heels.

“What’s that thing?” Drummond immediately noticed the large present box. It looked familiar. “This was…part of the old restaurant, correct? Strange.”

“Huh? The Marionette—uh, the battery is really low and I was tuning it up.” The night guard folded his arms and turned to the secretary. “What’s so strange? Marion’s a part of the pizzeria.”

Drummond nods, rubbing his chin as he thinks.

“King had said it was put in the basement because it was irreparable.” Drummond frowned, “That was several years ago if I recall. And he never did tell me why, or get it up and running.” A suspicious act if Drummond had known about it. Shaking his head and deciding there was lot King hadn’t told them, Drummond filed the information away for later.

“If you take the manager’s job, but you don’t want his office, what are you going to do about the extra room? It would be wasteful to leave it sit, pointless to make another Parts and Services.”

Mike didn’t answer, he was too busy staring at the Marionette’s closed box.

Drummond watched him closely, but found it more interesting to watch Fazbear. The looming bear stood behind Mike, and hadn’t said a word unless prompted. When Freddy wasn’t staring at Drummond, he was watching Schmidt with a much softer, almost affable gaze. It seemed more potent when Mike did or said something, especially when he smiled.

Like he was right now, come to think of it. Drummond noticed the look and made to question him about it. Just _what_ was so funny about their predicament the man felt the need to grin? Of all the nerve—

“Can you hold on for just a sec?” The secretary stuttered into silence. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but one look from Freddy kept him quiet.

“I’ve might have something that can solve our problem.” Mike grinned over at Mr. Drummond, unaware of the looming Fazbear eyeing the man into listening to the night guard.

“You…have a solution?”

“I gotta plan.” Mike’s grin widened, and he grabbed the large gift box. “Follow me.”

* * *

Drummond left the pizzeria at quarter to six, which was about two hours after he expected to leave. The sun was low in the sky, nearly dusting the trees because Fall dictated the sun left early during this time of year. The rain had stopped, but Drummond still hurried for his taxi, leaving the pizzeria and its new manager behind. He had a lot to report to the boss, and even more paperwork to fill out. But thankfully, not as much as he would have had if Schmidt hadn’t taken the job offer.

As far as he was concerned, if Schmidt wanted to run that restaurant and thought the animatronics would be of more help moving than not, it was his call and the backlash would be put on him if anything did go wrong. He was the head manager for a reason.

Wanting to stay on as night guard, too? That just seemed a little much, but the boy could be surprisingly stubborn at certain opportunities. But it meant they only had to pay Schmidt for one and a half of the jobs he was doing, with one being the manager’s pay and other half being the night guard’s position. Saved on green, and that’s what Drummond cared about. Numbers. There was safety in numbers

On the other hand, showing a profit in this little business was something Drummond was much more interested for—so it wasn’t like he _wanted_ Schmidt and his band of freaky robots to fail. Far from it. And as seen by King’s long time presence, Drummond was not above allowing a few nuts to slip through if it meant productivity was up.

A cheap investment to be sure, keeping the man who could control those robots around.

And then there was that whole business with the manager’s office and the puppet’s box. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, and even now he’s not quite inclined to believe it. The room was cleared out, and everything was in the dumpsters outside without the furniture ever having to be touched by workers, or even travel down the hallway at all. The secretary shook the thoughts from his mind, pushing himself to think of plane rides home, and the lovely stew his wife made.

Richard Drummond was a very busy man, and did not have time for magic.

* * *

The following week, Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria was back open again, and under new management.

And this time, things were a _little_ different.

“Do you like your balloon, sweetie?”

“Yeah! Look at it Mom, it’s huge!” A little girl exclaimed as she ran off with the big green balloon.

“It’s my turn—can I have a yellow one though?”

“Hi!” said BalloonBoy, turning to the next child in line. BB held out a yellow, flat balloon and raised it questioningly. The child nodded and BB cheerfully began filling the balloon with helium. When he had finished, he tied it off quickly and handed the balloon to its new owner.

“Thanks!”

“Hello?” BB said to the next kid.

Beside him on the large counter, a large present box sat with rows of toys stretched out behind it sat with its own queue. The row of children stretched out of the old converted office, and very nearly back to the dining hall where the sounds of a party could be heard.

“I’d like a, a Bonnie plush.” Said a quiet child clutching a huge collection of tickets.

“Remember your please and thank you’s, Madison.” A mother instructed gently. Madison nodded so hard her pigtails bobbed.

“Please!”

Marionette nodded, took the tickets and pulled them into his box. He made a show of digging around, before drawing his arms out of his (empty) box and holding the rabbit plush up, complete with little red guitar and all.

“Wow!” The girl squeaked, taking the plush with a quick thank you before letting the boy behind her walk up to the Prize Counter.

“Can I get one of those toy Foxy’s?”

Mike leaned into of the room at this point, with a little smile on his face. BB spotted him and waved. Mike returned the wave and headed on his way, having only stopped by to see if BB had run out of balloons yet again.

“How be yer work, matey?” said a familiar voice. Mike turned as Foxy strolled up, his eye patch in place and an old pirate hat over one ear.

“Everyone seems to really like the Prize Room. How’re you doing? Is your show okay even without the Red Fox, Captain?” Mike teased gently. Despite the wait, the wooden prop was still under heavy construction.

“Aye, I be going ta all the tables I can like we rehearsed. The kids all believe I been in some nasty fights, let me tell you. Just takin’ a little break, thought I’d help Chica deliver some pizzas.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about the fighting.” Mike grinned, thinking of the previous fights with the malfunctioning robots.

“I feel weird giving you guys breaks on the stage only for then to work during them. But the gang doesn’t seem to mind…” Mike said, peeking in the dining room to see Freddy holding the door open for a family of three, taking off his hat and saying something that made the children giggle. For some reason known only to Freddy, he liked being a greeter, and had already requested he be allowed to stand outside occasionally. Mike had said he would look into it, but Freddy would only be able to during good weather.

Chica was at one of the tables, asking who had ordered the pepperoni, and then telling the kids that they hoped they like her cooking. According to one loud child, it was ‘better than even Mom’s!’ Chica puffed her chest out so much Mike was afraid her bib might come off.

Bonnie was now in the Prize Room, tying balloons off for BB and telling all the kids to get purple balloons because purple was, duh, the BEST color. (To a chorus of giggles.)

“Aye, but ye forget Mikey.” Foxy patted his shoulder and clanked his now fixed jaw. “This is what we were made for.”

“Yeah,” Mike smiles softly, “You gotta good point, buddy….hey you realize I passed my two week mark here? What, I don’t get a party?’

“Don’t say that too loudly, we never miss a chance to throw a party, matey.” Foxy informed seriously, which made Mike throw his head back and laugh.

Suddenly music began playing from the stage.

“Ah, the last show be starting!” Foxy said. “That be my cue, lad, if you’ll excuse ole’ Foxy.”

Mike waved his friend off and headed into the dining room. He stood at the back, where he could see the whole place just fine; his tablet tucked under one arm and security cap keeping some semblance of control on his messy hair. The gang had already gone back to the stage in time for the curtain to pull open, revealing Freddy and his crew who immediately began their final show. The songs were cheesy, the lines were awful, but none of this mattered because of the kids all watching. Mike grinned, unable to help but overhear a conversation from two mothers who sat in the booth to his left.

“The kids really seem to enjoy this place. I’ve got to say, it seems a lot brighter than last time we were here.”

“Well, I hear they brought in a special someone from high on their corporate list. Some business guru who’s turned the whole place around. I wonder why they didn’t do that months ago, but who knows?”

“They’ve their work cut out for them then, but if this is what can happen in just a week, maybe we ought to have Andy’s birthday party here.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that.”

It’s at this point there’s a rousing roar of laughter as Foxy the pirate—who had just returned from his world travels, Freddy reminded—darted in from the hallway and headed for the stage. He immediately launched into a tale concerning himself and a whale the size of the restaurant, while the other three look on and make various comments. (‘How did you escape?!’ asks the enamored Chica. “Whales don’t grow that big, Foxy!’ Bonnie rolls his eyes like the teenager’s he’s programmed after. And of course, Freddy was there as mediator, ‘Now now Bon, let’im finish his story. These kids are jumpier than catfish to hear where Foxy’s been!”)

Of course, Foxy finished and charged off the stage, vanishing the way he’d come. This is where the show deviates from its normal cycle, since it’s close to closing and after this, everyone will start to dwindle out. Foxy appeared as if by magic next to Mike as the other three started their finishing song.

“Have fun?” Mike asks out of the corner of his mouth, watching the kids cheer with a wide grin.

“More than ya can ever know, matey. More than ya can ever know.” Foxy says, sounding intensely satisfied as he rested against the back wall beside their night guard.

“Speaking o’ fun, when you gonna take a vacation?”

“Here comes the mother hen. What, you wanna get rid of me so soon?” Mike shot back, giving Foxy an amused look.

“Yer working afternoons and nights lad, ya need ta sleep sometime.” Foxy pointed out with a brandish of his hook.

“Hey, one more day won’t kill me, right?” Mike smiled, and realized his statement seconds after he had said it. Foxy gave him a doubtful look, but visibly relaxed when Mike broke into soft laughter at his comment.

“I really _do_ need to start using different phrases, yanno.” But Mike was still smiling. He turned back to watch the end of the show.

Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria.

A magical place of fun and fantasy indeed, but not without its scars from the past. But as with all things, time had finally begun to heal the wounds and, with a little help from Michael Schmidt and his heart of Gold, the restaurant and its cast of characters could begin the healing process.

“That’s our show for the night, folks. Be sure to stop by the Prize Counter—use those tickets up!” Freddy said, lowering his microphone.

“Bye-bye!” crowed Chica.

“See you later!” Bonnie’s good bye came with a guitar riff before he struck his turn off pose.

Freddy waved as the curtain began to fall, rising his hand and microphone one more time. He looked over the entire room, catching Mike’s eyes and crinkling his own glass optics as he raised his microphone.

“Thanks for coming to Freddy Fazbear’s! Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?”  
  


**_END_ **

* * *

_"They come alive when I work the nights,_  
_I guess I should have ween the warning signs."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! A few closing notes: I brought back ‘Friday Night’ by Mcfly for the end song. A sort of ‘I open at the close’ moment. Second, THANK YOU FOR READING! Be on the look out for the third, and final, part to this series called Ghost Strings.

**Author's Note:**

> Made by popular demand, the prequel to London Bridge. Also, if the FNAF movie doesn’t use McFly’s song Friday Night in some way, shape or form, they are missing the opportunity of a century. It’s basically a song about Mike and it’s scary spot on. The very first lines are “Sleeping through the day cause I work all night, get out the way things are coming alive…” And it only gets better from there. (Fun fact: In London Bridge, Mike says one of the lines in the last chapter.) 
> 
> On that note, the end notes will always have the title of the song I use in the beginning.


End file.
